A great hall, long as ages and dark as night itself. The smell of dampness filled it, making breathing harder, dulling the senses.
A tiny square of light appeared in the ceiling and, with its brilliance, an endless stairway of stone was revealed, along with a dozen identical wooden doors across the room. Against the light, appeared Mr. Lifshitz, grumbling, rheumatics aching all over his body. He carried a cup of tea.
'Who had the brilliant idea of building a dungeon below a lake? Mrs. Lifshitz, obviously. Brilliant, just brilliant. Always the genius, my dear wife.'
He reached the floor, looking all around him for something familiar.
"Could she have installed dehumidifiers at least? Electric lights? Absolutely not, she'd said. Noir atmosphere, she'd said. Brilliant.'
He took a purple-coloured umbrella out of nowhere and pointed it up.
'Shine,' he said.
The point of the umbrella seemed to swell and gain a spherical form. It came out with a 'pop!', looking like a soap bubble. Letting go of the umbrella, Lifshitz waited as it raised in the air and bulged and grew. Several popping noises later, the entire umbrella vanished, leaving only bubbles behind, spreading across the empty space. All of a sudden, they lit up, filling the dungeons with globes of light.
'Much better,' and with that, he walked towards a door and knocked.
'Ma'am,' he greeted, before entering the room. The bubbles wouldn't be needed here, there were a couple of lamps, illuminating the small, dry quarters. A bed, a closet and a compact group of shelves with several books filled almost completely the space. Although cramped, the room wasn't claustrophobic. It had an air of cosiness and familiarity, reinforced by the indescribable decorations that only yarn and too much free time could have brought forth.
His wife hated it. It didn't have ambience, she'd said. In spite of being a villain, he'd said to her then, he wasn't an animal. Not with his prisoners, at least. Mrs. Lifshitz had giggled then.
Sitting in the bed, the woman looked intently at him. She knew all, or thought she did, that much was said by her deep-green eyes. She had no hair. Her white clothes, nice and simple, framed her head, giving her a clean, yet eerie, appearance.
'You,' she muttered, 'I knew-'
'Yes, my dear, you knew I was coming. Yes, I am very surprised by your astounding ability to predict the future. Oh my. What a shock.’
He paused to sip his tea, now cold as water and herbs could ever get.
‘Now, child,' he touched her chin, getting closer to her face, 'Tell me. How am I going to die?'
