The Poisoned Sleep of Tantalus

"The Poisoned Sleep of Tantalus" -- A room. A desk. A chair. A lamp, a dim glow, amber gloam and writhing shadows. The Books stacked high upon the desk, threatening to collapse. The trees outside the window. The wind in the trees. The door closed and locked shut, the rasp of a latch and the click of a bolt and the silence just after. Where has the key gone to now? The sullen towers of storm clouds on the horizon rolling down the hills, a color somewhere between the deepest ocean and the blackest spires of night. Twilight approaches, like a rider in the vanishing distance of dreams, his horse a harbinger of some great apocalypse.

The wind howls through the valleys and forests. A whole world of darkness creeps into the room. It begins to rain, the pitter-patter on the roof dragging sleep just behind.