Inside the private study of the Marquis, a dark-haired man with brown eyes sat by the window, one leg crossed over the other, and a glass of wine in his hand.
Raindrops struck the pane in a gentle, steady rhythm. Beyond the glass, the city sprawled out in dull gray layers. Smoke still rose from the distant chimneys, thin and slow, as they blurred into the rain and the low clouds.
The whole skyline of Springdale looked heavy, tired, and melancholic.
Marden's gaze never wavered. For a moment, however, something flickered in his eyes… something sharp, something unstable.
In his mind, he saw them again. The ghostly silhouettes of the Benton family. Their hands were clutching at his legs, fingers digging into his ankles, trying to drag him down into the pits of hell.
He couldn't help but sigh.
"Why do I have to deal with this?" he murmured.
He took another sip of wine, leaned back in his chair, and let the visions fade.
Madness, madness, madness, he mused.
Madness everywhere.
