"Awww…" Damon let out a soft yawn as he stretched across the bed. He stood, snapped his fingers lightly, then waited.
Nothing.
He frowned and snapped again.
Still nothing.
He glanced at the side of his bed. No morning tea. For a moment he simply stared, then sighed. All that talk with Lazarak about wanting to be rich had really infected his thoughts. He was rich now. So why was there no tea.
He pushed himself up.
Beside the bed sat a pile of books with human organs pressed into their covers. They glistened faintly in the library's pale light. Once, they had been people. Now they were light reading. Damon had been indulging in it lately. Relaxing, really.
"A nourished mind is the key to a nourished body."
He muttered the phrase as he rose fully, lifting his gaze toward the vast halls of the library. Towering shelves stretched into the dim distance. Every book was a prisoner. Every prisoner was a story.
