Evan grimaced at the condition of the door leading down to his workshop. The iron had long since rusted, and the edges of the wood had been eaten away by time and a myriad of tiny bugs, despite the magic that was supposed to preserve the tower. He pulled on the latch, only to have the metal handle break off in his hand. He wedged his fingers into the crack between the door and the wooden frame and pulled.
With an overwhelming heave of cracking wood and centuries of dust and grime, the door opened. Evan breathed deep as he stood on the threshold, a tiny twinge of memory tugging at his mind. It had been too long. He descended the stone steps slowly, wary of any loose or broken ones that could prove to be treacherous. Once he was safely at the bottom, he looked around for a candle. He found
