Chapter 54: The Devil's Residence
"What is hell? Hell is oneself. Hell is alone, the other figures in it merely projections"
-T.S Eliot-
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His fingers grazed over his harp gently, allowing the gentle tune to flow over in the air. Passacaglia by Handel was his choice for the day, the music reminded him of a classic library from his childhood. It was fresh in his memories as if it had only been yesterday since he had been there. He was not a reader, he came there just to escape the reality of his terrible life, wandering from shelves to shelves, watching as people pass by. Students, scholars, and sometimes elderly people. He could never understand them, they came from a completely different world than him, but at least in the library, he could find silence and serenity.
The sun wa
