With a shrug, Anton tucks away the empty journals and walks along with the others down to the first floor. This place, too, seems a little more morbid than they left it. The images of flowering vines along the wall revealed as serpents, the flowers hiding imagery of skulls. Where the satyr in the statue with the nymph once seemed joyous, now his gaze seems lecherous and diabolical.

A glance into the door, and Kellon recalls it as the coat closet. There remain inside a few black coats, and a black top hat.

"For some folks, all they have is book learning you know," Anton converses as they traverse. "Most folks back home, where I'm from, they don't even know about the supernatural. Government keeps it all hush hush. And when they read books by other hacks they learn all sort of old deep-held superstitions that are just completely untrue. When they read my books, they are armed with knowledge. And if they should encounter some dark force, perhaps they can manage to escape. Little survival manuals, hidden as leisure reading, and all without blowing the top on government secrets that will see witch hunters at my doorstep."