The air in the Truthless Recluse's chambers at the Spire of Deceit was thick with a silence that was enough to cut with a knife. No candelabra flickered, no hearth crackled; only the ghostly glow from the Spire's magic seeped through the tall and arched windows.

And on the bed he refused to sleep was that damned doll in the shape of Shadow Milk Cookie he insisted on staying there. He knew it wasn't just a doll, but again, nothing was his choice in the Spire.