While Elizabeth was being reduced to a panting, cum-slicked animal on her knees, the atmosphere in Alexander's private study was suffocatingly different, heavy with the stench of stale ink, guttering candle wax, and the bitter rot of failure.
"Gghhh... nrrggghhh..." Alexander keeps mumbling while scratching his forehead with a pen. "Think... think clearly...!"
The clock on the mantle had long since struck the deepest hours of the night, the rhythmic tock tock tock sounding to Alexander like the steady beat of a hammer driving nails into his own coffin. He sat hunched over a massive oak desk, his eyes bloodshot and burning from hours of squinting at cramped, ancient script.
"Come on... there has to be something..." he whispered, his voice a raspy, broken shadow of its former command.
