Hope had failed him.
Beneath the cold marble of the ground floor, an unlit chamber sat at half capacity. Upon completion of the museum, Aldus spent nearly all of his time below. Unlike any of his other ideas, this cavern was one he knew he would never finish. It did not occurred to him that upon his death, everything above might break free. No evidence had been produced to make him believe that his life thread was what bound these creatures to their stationary hosts.
Sandra knew, she just didn’t know exactly what it was that she knew. From the moment they met, she had recognized something that set him apart from other men. It felt.. untamed, dangerous. His demeanor was that of any other polite, reserved gentleman, but his art - God, his art! It was as though it was born of a religion foreign to this plane. He was an acolyte to a deity we couldn’t comprehend.
The thing about magics like this - The personal kind, the kind that have no ancestors - is that even the most experienced mediums don’t know what to make of it. It registers on their internal circuitry, but there is no pattern it can match to. No frequency to align with.