Rupert was in a basement that had a bunch of books, candles, dead animals, dead animals, etc. He slowly looked around, touching everything with his fingertips. He heard the door open and immediately gasped. He stood at a table, near some bread he wanted.

The burn on his face stung. He’s had it since he was little. The day was gray as the trees were dead. The candles were lit. It was the year 1789.