Even the owl delivering the letter recognized this as an ominous place surrounded by curses.
After shaking the letter from its leg, it did not even ask for food or water. Struggling to spread its wings, it leaped from the windowsill and fled unsteadily.
The old man watched it leave in silence until the owl became a black speck in his sight, and his gaze met the faint glimmer at the horizon.
This eternal land had neither day nor night.
It was difficult to tell whether that faint light was the dawn before sunrise or the last ray of sunset before darkness fell.
In the dim room, the old man finally unfolded the letter. The restrained yet sharp handwriting on the parchment fell into eyes clouded by a pale film.
The parchment rustled in the howling cold wind, and the restless sound brought a strange hint of life to this fallen place.
The old man read the words on the paper, just as he read those newspapers.
Not a trace of emotion stirred on his weathered face, and his eyes remained dull and lifeless.
At last, he finished reading the letter.
It seemed that years of confinement had inflicted irreversible damage on his mind. He appeared slower than other old men his age.
He stood by the window, allowing fine snowflakes to fall upon his head and turn his gray-white hair silver.
After a long while, the hand holding the letter fell to his side, though his fingers still pinched one corner of the paper.
Turning toward the window, his gaze fell beside the pillow, where a pocket watch lay.
In the gloom, the exquisitely ornate old pocket watch shimmered with flowing colors. It was the only thing in the gray room that carried a warm hue.
He bent down