Dark rectangles of oak punctuated the thick layer of dust that had settled on the forgotten shelves. The histories which had once decorated the stone halls were gone, along with every trace of the master’s belongings. His pile of journals were no longer on the corner of his desk, nor was the pair of ornate statues of Grecian figures which cost more than the sum of his absent belongings. Where had all the paintings gone? The room looked strange without all the eyes of former masters looking down at whoever was fortunate enough to sit before his desk. I glanced back at the emptiness that once held all that mattered to my master, then closed the damaged door behind me.