MYO-1699: Devon

Silas would be lying to say that he isn’t nervous. It’s becoming increasingly obvious just how out of place he feels, squirming slightly from where he is knelt upon the fuzzy pink carpet, wincing slightly at the feeling of it against his bare flesh. His usual darkened attire has already been carefully set aside, each piece meticulously folded by slightly shaky hand...

From where he’s seated at his desk, quill in hand and dozens upon dozens of papers laid scattered around him, Silas swears the flames beckon him. He’s always written by candlelight before - that is nothing new. From within his grand mansion of an apartment- or more like his self-inflicted prison, he privately laments - it is not uncommon for candles or all sorts to be used as the main light source. Unscented, seasonal, colored or even plain - Silas would gladly take them all. ...