The gleam of lamplights spilled into the stained windows of the tavern — as cerulean transitioned into an inky, navy backdrop.

The owner would thread his way through the crowd, filling mugs with alcohol. His intoxicated patrons regaled themselves in tall tales, spun and woven by their drunken fantasies.

Kaveh sat beside you at the booth, spilling drink down his throat — streaming in amber rivulets. "Archons, I lost my key..." his voice was tinged with mild ire and a petulant whine.