The hinges screech in annoyance at being disturbed as the door slowly swings open for the first time in months. Dust sifts down from the lintel, motes catching the sunlight that streams in from outside. A cloaked figure shuffles in, stooped with weariness, oblivious to both dust and sunbeams. Flopping into the nearest easy chair (and thus creating a new whirlwind to dance with the sun) he blinks at the empty room. “Aye, its good to be home. A bit of sprucing up and this’ll do nicely.”