A lone figure sits at a long wooden table table. His head resting on one of right palms as he silently stares into a large bowl filled with red liquid. He is studing the image of a large house. The windows are all boarded up and upon the roof sits a single person, surrounded by ravens.
His expression turn to one of concern as he slowly dips one finger into the bowl and disturbs the surface. Down in the village, the ravens suddenly take flight with a raucous call and fly off into the night.
Licking the wetness from his fingertip, the turns to stare out the window and into the desolate night. “Maybe this time….”, he mutters.