Prologue
Dripping... Dripping...
Every drop of water feeding on his anger, his hatred, his resentment toward the boy. He watched the water trickle slowly from the ceiling to the floor, passing the slivers of light slipping through the barred window. For three months, he had been here, simmering in his own loathing, and his own self-pity.
"Fowl..." He hissed, madness creeping into his tone. Before long, he will be consumed in that madness, his wrath taking hold, reducing him to nothing more than a vengeful puppet, pulled along the strings of Death himself... or someone who played the part.
For another grueling two hours he seethed, trying to form a plan of revenge with the last dregs of his sanity... before he was hauled completely into lunacy.
And at that moment of complete yielding, an encouraging voice echoed from an umbrageous corner of the prison cell...
Mister Spiro... The voice coaxed, it's horrible rasp masked by the beautiful tone of the mesmer.
Your time is at hand.