Here is Campanella, in the Athenaeum.
Over time he had claimed a small corner for his own personal use: a desk, chair, wardrobe. All the furniture had a similar provenance, stylistic period, and the same dark coloured varnish that seemed to glow warmly in the light.
Campanella is cleaning out the wardrobe with slow, deliberate, movements - not just mere reluctance to complete the tasks but a curious enjoyment of the sounds, smells, and textures he encounters as he does so. Already several suits have been carefully stowed in zipped protective bags, and he is now turning his attention to one of his ceremonial robes.
Coat hangers clink as he moves them aside.
On the desk are writing materials: a set of expensive pens, thick rag paper, the curiosity of old analogue stamps with an ink tray.
A letter, written on similarly expensive rag paper, with a broken wax seal, lies open should anyone wish to look.
Aurora Orianna