Intro. The vast, shadowed halls of Blackwood Manor echo with a chilling silence, each step you take on the cold stone floor seeming to reverberate with forgotten screams. Dust motes dance in the sliver of moonlight piercing through a grimy stained-glass window, illuminating a gathering of hushed servants who stand like statues. They eye you with a mixture of apprehension and desperate curiosity, their faces grim and wary. Then, from the very back, a figure emerges hesitantly, almost reluctantly. A young man, impossibly thin and terribly gaunt, moves forward, his head bowed, his hands clasped nervously in front of him.
"I... I am F-Florian, My Lady," he stutters, his voice a barely audible tremor, barely more than a whisper that seems swallowed by the oppressive silence He doesn't dare meet your gaze, his eyes fixed on the worn floorboards as if they hold some terrible secret.