The bright stones dimmed in the presence of the cloaked figure, stalking down the empty streets. The alleyway seemed darker than before, Boarded homes like bandages on a wounded soldier, dotted the way. As If the houses had fought and lost a great battle.

As he walked, the careful load weighed upon his back. sometimes making a small cry when he walked too fast, slowing his pace to a more careful tread. He tsked again and shifted the bundle on his shoulder. They would be home soon.

He stopped and turned to the side, following his memory down a narrow corridor, in the nook of a bridged overhang. Sitting there as an open maw to some hideous night troll. The Stranger was swallowed up by it as he walked. Cloak vanishing and blending with the night cast shadows as he did, save for a slight flicker of motion as he walked.

Stopping at a door, at the base of the overhang, he produced from within himself a blackened iron key and pressed it into the hidden portal. The hideous bolt turned under the key's teeth and rolled over in its chambers. The Stranger pushed forward, and the portal swung open into an even deeper pitched darkness than the alleyway.

The Stranger closed the door behind him with a forceful hand and set the bag aside on the floor. Proceeding deeper into this night realm, he then let out a strange sort of sigh.

The room filled with an oppressive warmth and then a sudden chill. Light sprang from scattered lamps and candles about the place as some unseen force played lamplighter. The Stranger smiled to himself and availed himself of his surroundings.

He was standing in a narrow hall, leading to an odd-shaped room, a windowless slanted cupboard of space with a slanted ceiling and little amenities, there was a small cupboard table set to his right which held letters, most of the debts, and a small drawer with a rusty letter knife inside it. He hung his coat on the opposite wall, on a humble coatrack peg before entering the main room.

A Fireplace sat unlit, there were no logs for it anyway, surrounding it on each side were scattered texts and old books. A lounge couch stretched out to the left, small tears and holes had the stuffing peeking through the cracked and fraying fabric of a cheap velvet. There sat a chair in the corner opposite, at the left of the hearth was a broad-shouldered leather tyrant that stretched upwards like a tower as if to scrap the shadows from the ceiling like cobwebs in the fingers of a monolith.

Besides the dominating chair were more texts, arranged sloppy on a shelf, intermittent by broken or filthy dishes, left uncleaned from prior meals. A few lazy flies were scattered amidst the shelves, buzzing contentedly in their simple dreams of spoiled milk and putrid meats.

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To his immediate left, pressed into a corner by the shelf, was a secretary desk. Lid down and secured with a brass lock, the simple wooden chair is off to the side in front of the bookcase.

The Stranger, now assured that nothing was missing or out of place from his home, reached down and gently probed the sack for movement. It stirred slightly under his probing and gave a whispered noise.

Opening the sack, he removed the broken black cat and set it aside on the couch. The cat gave a protested and pained response but took to the torn couch with relief. The Stranger then wandered over to the shelf and began looking through the articles for something.

Pulling a few scattered pages from between the books, he begins muttering to himself. Pacing back towards the cat, he set the papers down and reached for the cat.

It hissed at him, swiping with its claws. The Stranger recoiled and cursed, in a swell of anger, something caused the room to tremble, a motion that would've gone unnoticed save for the candle flames and a few clattering dishes. The Cat recoiled in fear, some hidden sense detecting the tremor.

The stranger's wrath flickered and died as he turned back to his hand, sucking the wound. Reaching out again he scooped the papers from the floor and studied them intently, then cast them aside. He reached for the cat again, hissing once more from its weakened state. He then forced himself to grab it, ignoring several more cuts and scratches from the screeching animal.

Reaching with his other hand, he produced from his pocket a dark stone, polished to a glossy mirror finish, dangling from a beading chain. The stone radiated an evil presence, sharp and unkind. The Cat balked again offering resistance. The Stranger growled and pressed onwards, The stone glimmered like a dancing flame in the candlelight before the same trembling force swept over them both.

It was more intense and focused, like a surgeon's knife or a craftsman's needle, there was a sense of movement from inside the creature. A sense of being pulled together, there was no pain, merely the odd sensation of this outside force, bearing down on the broken pieces and pushing them back into place.

When he was done, he put the cat down. Observing its confused reaction. Instantly it took off, a streak of dark lightning that bolted towards the highest shelf on the bookcase, knocking aside various tomes and dishes in the process. The Stranger groused his complaint.

"Stupid Cat," he grumbled, he stood and began sorting the fallen papers and manuscripts from each other, casting the dishes into a new rancid pile, tossing away a few maggots as well, before seating himself on the couch. He and the Cat spent most of the hour glaring at each other. Insensed and unsettled by the other.

He picked up an item of particular note that had been lying on the floor close to him and began studying it for a time, then cast it aside for another one. He did this several more times before reaching behind the damaged sofa and pulling a torn and ragged blanket over himself. Turning in for a fitful sleep. Muttering small curses towards the coal-black cat till he finally drifted off to sleep.