The fourth floor always made him think of the Library. To be honest, thinking about the place gave Damien stomach ulcers. Granted -- he wasn't exactly sure if you could have ulcers in your stomach (let alone knew what they were exactly), but it certainly felt like ulcers.

He thought about venturing towards the book palace, but thought better of it with every other step he took down the corridor. It only angered him that he couldn't find anything he was looking for; which was, obviously, very counter productive. Perhaps he should stop thinking and looking altogether, and a solution will fall into his lap. Magic. He was, a wizard after all, wasn't he?

He itched the spot covered up by the black wristband -- still unsure of where that came from.

The footsteps echoed eerily along the stone walls and he flipped up the collar of his leather jacket. The corridors were known for their drafts, but it could be him. Maybe no one else felt the drafts.