Prologue : Morphinae Graham

***This bed was made when Jared's grandfather Harold Washington, was in his middle twenties. The designer, Wayne Rodriguez—it was his valedictory work for the Washingtons. The materials and resources were gathered from the forsaken land on which the oldest manor was situated in the middle of the pine woods, uptown. Rumours had it that the manor residents were slaughtered by a cult. But was it true?

Those whimsical beings loved spreading words of lies without meanings. The eldest daughter served his father a fatal drink—Amore Father, concocted with affection, affliction and a drop of piercing fury born from the dyspepsia of exasperation. An ardent withdranwed habile alchemist,Morphinae, being divagated from her perennial flame constrained her to extirpate the remaining light in perpetuity.

On the third day—after consuming the robust sapid non sultry potion, Lord Graham's corse was smelt out by the charlady in the course of her drudgery. It eventuated that he was necrosed—according to the family sawbones—his veins were fractionated from inside. The incident caused an affray in the household due to the perturbation of the demised Graham. Morphinae illustrated the wicked threnody coated with undiluted mourns. The night was overcasted with lowering clouds. The final dinner was prepared by the charlady with a bit of assistance from Morphinae.

The clock, the messenger of time for the Grahams, ceased to sprint forbye. Only the ardent unwearying footsteps of Morphinae Graham—the withdranwed alchemist, could be heard in a faraway land.