Rain lashed against the library windows, a melancholic symphony. The heavy drops obscured the view of the towering manor. Inside, the fire crackled, casting long shadows on the shelves. A gust of wind howled, rattling the ancient, dusty tomes. Lord Ashworth slumped in his favorite chair, inert. Professor Mallory, with a gasp, dropped the half-eaten apple. A single, scarlet stain bloomed across the pommel. The phone rang, shattering his concentration into a million pieces. He picked it up with a tremor in his hands.