A night of senseless drinking, a night of forgiving one's worries. Celebrations elapsed long into the cold dawn of December the 16th. Igna woke in the Rosespire manor, one located within the noble district.
'My neck,' he sat straight, the body took a beating from the ill-advised posture upon the couch's frame, '-those two are absolutely alcoholics, who in their right mind can drink so much and not flinch.' Time read 05:45 on the dim screen, the title screen moved per the introduction to the local news. The sight was drawn, and soon, he increased the volume.
"Master, breakfast is ready," said Éclair stood in the corridor.
"You sure are healthy."
"I know how to balance the alcohol I take," he commented smugly. Attention would unknowingly carry onto the screen, the first news reported on the trial of Igna Haggard.
