***
SNAP...
Ignotus's eyes fluttered open.
The ceiling was white-tiled and crisscrossed by polished brass pipes that groaned with the effort of heating the room.
He squinted, his vision swimming until it landed on a man sitting in a high-backed chair beside his bed.
The suit-wearing man was strikingly pale, his skin near translucent under the flickering gaslight. His ears were tall and thin, tapering into points that marked him as an elf-folk.
Everything about him seemed mystic, from the way he sat with perfect stillness to the silver rings that adorned his slender fingers.
This was Marcus, Ignotus's closest friend.
The only man in his life who had ever managed to pick the lock on Ignotus's mind and call it "therapy."
Groaning up from the bed, Ignotus stared at Marcus, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He didn't speak; he just looked at the way the light caught the elf's face, proving that he was actually there.
"What's with that look, brother?"
