Isolation... Despair... Solitude... Chaos... All feelings given to those who step into t'is obscure chamber. Enshrouded in shadows there stands a young man, his eyes ever so calm, his expresion that of pleasure as he contemplates his life of eternal darkness. Blood red velvet curtains hand from the two windows that lay behind the darkness, a bed cover in silk lays at the inner right side of the room. Undeneath the left side window there be a oaken desk, polish to a silk smooth texture, a quill and ink laying there besides a pile of plain paper. As one approaches the center of the room, there be but an oaken table with similar texture to that of the desk, four chairs holding crimson pillows above the sitting wooden plantforms surround the table. Inside t'is chamber, all sounds seem to banish... Not a whisper can be heard, the echoes of the steps one takes being silenced by the crimson rug that lays undearneath it all. Behind all t'is darkness, there lay one door after another all holding a mystery of their own, a lock in each and every door, with a sole key to open them all. A key that eternaly hangs at the neck of the master of t'is chamber...
As the days wane into nights, with the sun being swallowed by the children of the night, a man comes and sits at the desk, with quill at hand and ink at his side, he spends his nights writing endless words... Time after time he sits there, night after night... Each darkened day he sits in that chair, his crimson curtains fully open allowing for the moon to gaze down at his words... With moonlight as his only companion in the endless darkness that enshrouds him, t'is man lives a life of mystery... A life isolated from all... The name of t'is man be.... Sir Launcelot Du Lake......

Naught in life be share with us all, the only fate we all share be death...
~Sir Launcelot Du Lake