Prologue

In the darkened dapples of the tall, concealing trees there is a clearing, and within the tall, overgrown grass stands a cottage. Overgrown with black moss and dark ivy with cracks in the very foundation, it has been abandoned for many years. The hinges groan as though those who open the door have disturbed a slumber meant to last for an eternity- an unwelcome and ill mannered guest. Inside however the furniture cries out in a sad melancholy- a deep loneliness that has lasted for too long. There are many dusty, unkempt shelves filled with spider webs that lay in tatters and books. Many, many books with wonderful but strange titles. "God: An Autobiography", "The Meaning of Life", "Homunculus: What Man Was Originally?". In the middle of the room lit by a pillar of light- it glow only here due to the hole protruding from the roof- is a pedestal. A book is kept closed there and bound with leather shackles. It reads: "The Book of Names". Looking around this place is cold as though the inhabitants never existed in the first place, but then, who collected all these books? Who built this cottage?