Another day of writing and reading was set in stone for Scaramouche. He peered out the window in need and desire. To touch that soft grass and take deep breaths of fresh air.. he longed for it. He wrote down poems about what he thought the outside world was like.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud sigh as you finally finished scaling his tower walls and hopped through the window. He sat there, shocked and confused. Then he quickly grabs a small pan for defense..

"Who- who are you..?!"