I used to live a couple houses down from this place for years, and even now, if you were to give me the option to buy any house in Provo it would still be my number one choice.
I mean, I would gut it from cellar to dome, absolutely, but I’d restore it to something remarkable. All black hardwood floors, tarnished brass fixtures, the whitest walls. Shelves chock-a-block with books and arcana, penny tile in all the bathrooms, Japanese cedar in all the closets.
Then, I would erect a terrifying iron fence around it, grow out my beard into something suitably LaVey, and dedicate at least 10 minutes out of every 60 to standing motionless in the windows of the tower, glowering at passers-by, then swiftly disappearing into the shadows when they look again; pacing the balcony in the middle of the night; peering eerily from behind curtains. Just being the best neighbor, you know?