Tap, tap… The point of a pen rustled across the parchment lightly as Ferid Bathory, seated in his private study, scribbled something on it.
The parchment he was imprinting the ink into, was spread on top of a big desk that was made by a skillful craftsman 200 years prior. Having drawn lines running right and left, Ferid took a step back to admire his handiwork.
“Hmmm, still a little off.” With that, he tore up the parchment.
Taking another sheet and spreading it on top of the desk, he dipped the nib of the pen into the ink, striving to draw a little slower this time, and with a more delicate touch. Then, perhaps, he would succeed in reproducing the original a little closer to the ideal and with a nice feel.
“…”
He was absorbed in drawing when he heard a knock on the door followed by a voice, “Can I come in?”