Imperatus Rex
Semper Imperatus
The study is silent of all sounds but the steady tapping rain outside. The wind blows the curtains into a free spirited dance through the open window, blissfully celebrating in spite of the bitter cold of the bleak night. The candles are blown out by the escaping breeze, returning the room to the drowsy darkness of it's natural state. The chairs are vacant, graphite and ink are smeared on the pages from the making of masterpiece and literature. Books lie on the shelves, their leather bindings showing their dust even in the dim moonlight pervading the dancing curtains. The tea sits without its vapors, the crumpets stale with every solitary moment. The dust of the windowsill is carefully blown by the winds, as if to spread salt in sake of preserving this room. The kettle is cool to the touch, the hanging coats smell faintly of the artists. The wooden table sits on the carpet as the painstaking works of paper and inks fly through the air in a fateful gust of ambitious wind. Serenity shall rule through the night, til the day the masters resume their restless work.