John Sigrev came from a family that, over the past century, had been on a downward trajectory. Since the time of Elizabeth, they had been landowners, but now even the last piece of land they once held had been sold. It was considered positive that one of the sons would at least master the useful art of making money. Ironically, it was John himself who was chosen for this particular role. With his peculiar delicate mouth and his large, dark blue almond-shaped eyes, which reminded the observer of an elf or a faun, some creature out of place meant to dwell in the woods, it was completely mismatched that he ended up sacrificed on the altar of Mammon. The scent of earth, the saltiness of sea salt on his lips, the vastness of the sky unfolding above his head: these were the things John Sigrev loved, and which he was forced to part with.
At the age of eighteen, he began working as a young clerk in a large financial institution. Seven years later, he was still a clerk, no longer as young, but otherwise his situation remained unchanged. The ability to understand how to "progress in life" had not been part of his makeup. He was a conscientious, hardworking, slow man: a clerk, nothing more. Yet, he could have become... truly, what? He could hardly give himself an answer to this question, and yet he was unable to rid himself of the belief that somewhere there was a life in which he could have... value.