There was a knock on the door. A spoon on a silver plate, unannounced yet graciously, never-ending solemnly. A butler in a forgotten castle wandering silently through meandering walls. A hollow echo of forgotten stories. A cello and a violin. Witnesses of joy and sin. Where eyes have spied, ghosts fly. Steam evaporates from boiling water. The tick, a click, some heels that steal the silence and carry it away over the wooden parquet floor. Nothing needs to be said that adds more than the room can tell. A standing clock telling more about the times that have fled than those that come. Some scenes of a random play; no stage, no stay. The knight escaped the armour; the noblewoman succumbed to glamour. Drama needs no director. Life is the best actor.