Whispers of Existence

Previously

…Alistair Finch’s study had always been thick with the scent of aged paper and dust motes dancing in stray beams of sunlight. Now, however, a new, unsettling aroma seemed to permeate the room, something akin to damp earth after a storm, or perhaps, the faintest hint of decay. It was a scent that clung to the edges of his senses, a subtle reminder that his quiet world, once so meticulously ordered, was beginning to fray. He had been pouring over the cryptic journal, its brittle pages whispering