A small cabin sits on the outskirts of town.
It seems rather quaint from first glance.
However, the interior is in stark comparison.
The walls are a patchwork of parchment, the floors are cracked and creaky.
Shelves full of books and oddities ranging from a box of broken gears to a nigh never-ending gyroscope consume most of the interior space.
In the far corner, a candle's flame flickers reluctantly, offended by the dust in the heavy air.
The light covers a desk and a young man hunched over, scrawling notes as if his life depended on it.
He goes on like this until morning light begins to flood through the opening in the heavy curtains.
Finally, he completes his task and sets down his pen at last.
He can rest.
He signs his work.
At the bottom of the page, he writes his name in cursive.
Simon Warren.