In the early evening a young man walked one of the two roads out of a small village near London towards a large forest just outside of said village. Upon approaching the forest a small house could be seen. More than a house, calling it a hut would be more appropriate. It was made from a combination of stone and wood and was located at the very edge of the forest. At first sight it almost looked like the forest was about to swallow the hut in one big gulp. Even for those days it was a simple housing. For the young man it was enough. There was running water and electricity, which would seem unlikely at this location. He lived there alone and peacefully quiet. The young man entered his small home and put his bag on the kitchen table. Today he had bought fresh milk and some bread. Together with some cheese he still had, this would be his dinner. With his hand he stroked some of his brown hair out of his light brown eyes. And with his lean body he reached to the cupboard in his little kitchen for a plate and a cup. Nobody really questions why this young man named Christoph, Chris as he is called, Blake lived alone there, although various rumours are certainly circling around. But then again, who doesn’t have rumours about them circling around? After eating his light dinner, he enjoyed the rest of his evening by reading to the light of a light bulb, before going to bed.