Misery speaks Dim street lights fill the streets. In the mysterious part of town, an office was built from brick and mud. A slanted wood roof and door made the house complete. It's windowless, the only source of light from candles and oil lamps burning fiercely from within. In sits a lonely figure, huddled over an oak carved table. She's busy writting something under bright lamps. She seems to be there for centuries past. She had never exited. Of course. She's not exactly, someone.