The air within the castle is acrid. No incense is burned.
No one would have expected to walk these halls again.
The last time I passed through here was when I was banished by the king's decree.
A dagger hidden within my loose-fitting tunic.
My eyes hold no trace of past emotions.

"Here, your identification."
"I am a hastily dispatched archivist. Please check my nameplate as well."

False documents. Even the signature is forged.
Yet, it took three years to mimic the chief archivist's handwriting.

The guard frowned, but swallowed his suspicion.
In this castle, 'excessive suspicion makes survival difficult.'
And so, I entered again.