Music Recommendation: Windmills by Ludwig Goransson
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It was evident that Calhoun was no ordinary person and his lineage was stronger than it appeared to one's naked eye.
By the time Calhoun had closed the lid of the cemented coffin for his mother to rest, the time of dusk had passed, and the night had pulled over the sky.
Home wasn't home anymore, and instead, it was nothing but a space left with nothing but memories. Not wanting to return, Calhoun now sat on one of the building roofs in the town that belonged to Madame Fraunces. The crescent moon shone down on the lands of the Devon while some parts held darkness. It was the time of midnight, and the town was peaceful without a sound of carriage nor a chirp of the bird or people's chatter.
