The scribe, with his ink-stained hands, hesitantly looked up from his work. An unnatural light, one that he had only read about in dusty wiki tomes, filled the room.
Light bulbs left behind in their ancient sockets for decoration, began to flicker and glow all through the halls of the monestary.
The scribe blew out the candles and resumed work, under the new standstill shadows. He knew nothing would be the same the more they re-harnessed this “elektrisitee.” Maybe there’s hope to restore the world after all.