The museum's doors were already closed, as it was late at night. The place silent enough to hear a pin drop, with only the slight humming of someone, and the scribbles of a quill could be heard in a particular room.

In the private studio of who owned the museum, Eclair, the dim light of the lamp on his desk was the only thing that cleared the room. Tea Knight had been kind enough to be here, and tell his stories of battles and crossings, but he had no idea it'd turn this late. And Eclair was still writing his every word. Oh, witches, he was too old for this.

He ran his hands through his hair, with a tired sigh. "Eclair..." Tea Knight called, to catch the historian's attention. "Don't you believe it's time to call it a day and continue later?"