He swirled the Frostwood Fire in his hand, memorized by the red sloshing liquid. It was quite unlike him to drink without a jovial reason, although the incident that unraveled within the past months was motivation enough. Duane drummed his fingers on the dark mahogany counter, feeling a sense of familiarity with the old establishment. The former trio would make this one of their more commonly visited places, using it as a refuge and sanctuary from whatever the evil of the week was. The thought brought back several merry memories from a seemingly carefree past life. I’m not nearly old enough to have these sentimental memories, he thought to himself as he scrutinized his own reflection appearing in the liquid. It seemed the roof of the whole world had suddenly collapsed within the past few months. Although he knew it was an internal lie meant to placate himself. There had always been several signs of changing tides, becoming ever more pervasive as time went on. He had simply chosen to blissfully ignore them.