The night was cold and the study was dimly lit. The thick curtains were heavily drawn, with only the faint light from the ghostly white tallow candle in the center of the table illuminating the room.
Count Gisborne sat in a chair with a dark red brocade cushion, staring blankly at the candle in front of him. Slowly, he stretched out his right palm and placed it above the flame.
The flame bent beneath his palm, making the room even more gloomy and distorting the count's shadow cast on the wall.
The shadow swayed and struggled with the flickering flame, dancing madly as if it had a consciousness of its own. Immediately, a pair of twisted horns grew slowly from the shadow's skull, emitting a somewhat sharp, shrill laughter.
"Are you satisfied, Your Honorable Count?" the shrill voice whispered in the count's ear. "This is just a small part of what we promised, an insignificant and trivial part. You will gain greater power, a power beyond ordinary people."
