Bab 175: 172: Dissonance; memories that come back to haunt

It was a strange day, Drystan concluded matter-of-factly as he looked around himself, unsure of what he was seeing.

His mind was playing tricks on him, was it not? It had to be, he shook his head, forcing himself to move as he walked through the seemingly empty corridor of his home — was what it should have been — back in Wales.

He wasn't big on sentiments. Rarely did nostalgia ever strike him, not to mention that most of the people who worked for him and with him were just a means to an end, in one way or another—bar a few selected individuals.

Silently he shook his head, a gloved hand reaching up to touch the wall as he ran his slender fingers on the smooth wallpaper adorning the enclosed surface of his once home.

Sombreness painted itself on his features as he turned away from the wallpaper, forlorn expression replaced the sombreness as he dared himself to let his gaze venture into the depth of darkness that surrounded his miserable abode.