Ravenmoore Manor

Dorian sat back in his armchair, thumbing through his original copy of John Milton’s Paradise Lost. A decanter of Courvoisier is next to him on a side table, along with a half-filled glass of the liquid nearby. Stringed instruments can be heard gently flowing from an antique radio across the room, as a wood fire casts a flickering orange glow on the vast collection of books surrounding their owner. There is a generally calm atmosphere in the room. The overture ends, and a voice speaking in an Eastern European language interrupts the broadcast.

“There have been another two killings in the Country of Sibiu this evening. Beniamin and Andreea Cioran were found brutally murdered in their home this evening. Authorities have had no leads as to who is behind this string of murders, and is imploring the citizens of the county to come forward with any information they may have. We now return to our scheduled broadcast”

Once again, the soft sound of stings can be heard. Dorian gently places is book on the side table, finishes the remaining contents of his glass, and shouts out:

“MARIUS!”

A man dressed in a black suit and bowtie swiftly strides into the room.

“Yes sir?” He replies.

“I need you to make arrangements for me to travel to New York City.”

“Will sir require a return ticket?” the butler enquired.

“No. Not yet anyway. I need a change of scenery. Such petty crimes make me weary. I’ll need a long-term residence of some kind, as I don’t know how long I’ll be staying for.”

“Are you sure you want to do this sir? I mean people aren’t very tolerant of your kind there.”

“Of my kind? What is anyone going to do to someone of my kind?” said Dorian with a wicked grin. The butler chuckles,

“Right away sir.” He says as he leaves from where he came.

“I have been a recluse in these mountains for too long. Soon I shall resume to accomplish my ambition of absolute power.” Dorian mutters to himself. He rises from his chair and turns the radio off. Tying the ends of his burgundy dressing gown, he leaves the room, and makes his way to a stone staircase. Reaching the floor below, he takes a large iron key out of his pocket, and unlocks a heavy wooden door. Inside is a cell. Dorian approaches the iron bars and sees a man cowering in the corner.

“Come now, Emil. What’s troubling you?” crooned Dorian.

“You’ve made me do some t-t-terrible things.” The prisoner stammers, “what more do you want of me?” The prisoner stares angrily at Dorian, who’s smug grin is unchanged. “Look at you. You are not human,” the prisoner seethed, “you are PURE pure evil!”

Dorian bursts into a wicked cackle. “You think I’ve come down here to force you to commit more sin? On the contrary, I’ve come to set you free.” Dorian swiftly pulls out a discreetly hidden pistol from his dressing gown and shoots the prisoner in the head. Re-holstering his weapon, Dorian leaves and goes to his room to pack his bags for the flight to JFK.