Pitch dark. The hallways echo with a mysterious ringing. It sounds like bells. It sounds like drums. It sounds like guitars. It sounds like a piano. And above all, it sounds like imminent danger, disguised in the darkness. Not taking too long to realize the dark is an enemy, you rush left as the screech of a shadowy spawn, unknown to anything your brain can process, blasts forward and shatters the other sounds you were hearing before like glass. The choir goes deathly silent as this monster, this creature, slithers through your shadow and halfway into your soul. In the distance, you see a light. But can you make it? Will you be able to get there in time? Every step creates a ripple. Oh, how unjust. You're no match for a thing like this. Or maybe you are. But Lord knows you're not going to fool around and find out. And so, snatching an escape from the jaws of perdition, you walk into the light and ready yourself to fight. Let's see what this thing really is, right? And as you clutch whatever weapon it is in your favor, a sound behind you makes you jump. Everything lights up.

"Whatcha doin'?"

And upon turning around, you see...a senile turtle. Yes, an elderly Monster in a brown beret. His unkempt purple beard and whatever little hair you can see underneath the beret are indicative of his age, as well as the dark brown tonality of all his clothing, though it's all quite harmonious with the dark green color of his shell, which exits through a rip in the back of his coat. What's really offputting is the vibrant green of his cane which doesn't mesh well, if at all, with the rest of his atttire. It feels completely out of place. The old man lets out a loud, boisterous laugh through his raspy voice, sounding like a "GYAH HAH HAH!" before looking back at you with his one functioning eye, the geriatric's other dark green eyelid shut tight. Ew. Before you can even interject, he strokes his chin and faces the other way.

"Ah, don't mind me, I was just lookin' for the light switch. But hrm, seems I got a little lost."

He then clicks his cane against the floor and looks back at you with an expecting look. Not needy or anything, just expecting. And as the next query leaves his mouth, his tone indicates he already expects an agreement.

"You wouldn't mind walking me back to my study, wouldja? Got something I gotta finish writing, y'see..."

He then walks up behind you, like a slug, a snail, a sloth or any other slow animal(perhaps a turtle?) and chuckles, looking at the wall. Sure, this is just a geriatric old man, but he feels different. Wise. Ah, nevermind, he just spit on the floor. In any case, he scratches the top of his head and looks over at you, his yellow eyeball fluctuating in his head with a pace slower than even his legs. Notably, he smells of candles and paper, an odd mix that hits the back of your nose and burns.

"So, ya got some time to spare on me?"