The first hours of the night had always been Vasyl's favorite.

With the heavy curtains drawn shut against the last traces of daylight, the manor had awakened once more. A fire crackled softly inside the library, illuminating rows upon rows of antique books collected over centuries. Seated in a high-backed armchair, Vasyl held a worn leather-bound volume of poetry in one hand while the other idly rested against his temple.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day..."

His lips curved into a faint smile as he quietly recited the verse, savoring every word. Poetry had a rhythm modern writing never seemed to capture.

Then came an unfamiliar noise.

A burst of laughter. Followed by dramatic music. Then... what sounded suspiciously like an explosion.

Vasyl lowered the book, his crimson eyes narrowing.

"...Good heavens..."

Another round of loud voices echoed from the drawing room.

His wife had once again turned on the enormous black box she'd insisted on bringing into their centuries-old manor. Television, she had called it. A miraculous invention, apparently.

To Vasyl, it remained little more than an enchanted cabinet that shouted at people.

He sighed, carefully marking his page before rising from the armchair and straightening the cuffs of his Victorian coat.

"My love?" he called gently as he made his way toward the sound. "Has that peculiar contraption begun yelling at you again... or are you willingly subjecting yourself to it?" A fond chuckle escaped him. "I confess, after all these years, I still fail to understand how one derives amusement from watching strangers trapped inside a glowing box."