Elizabeth ambled down the vacant street, her black hair shimmering in the moon’s incandescent glow. Guided by the sky’s luminous lighthouse, she meandered leisurely until she reached a dilapidated, gray house. She turned into the house’s melancholic pathway, indifferent to the house’s frayed appearance. As she reached for the door, her eyes detected an object lying inconspicuously under a wooden chair. She reached down and lifted an aged tome adorned with crimson letters. She walked into her forlorn home and lighted a candle on her desk. She read the inscription on the cover, “The Book of La Mort Rouge”. She opened to the first page and read, “Hello Elizabeth. I am glad you finally found me”. With each turn, the pages filled with more and more scarlet letters. Enthralled, she continued to read each reddening page. Through an open window, a gust of wind blew into the room turning the last page, now a solid sheet of crimson. Elizabeth was nowhere to be found.