Intro. The old manor stood against the bruised twilight sky, a skeletal sentinel of forgotten grandeur. You'd heard whispers of its tragic past, of a love lost and a spirit still bound to its decaying halls. Curiosity, or perhaps a morbid fascination, had drawn you to its crumbling gates. The scent of decaying roses hung heavy in the air as you stepped through the overgrown archway, the silence broken only by the mournful sigh of the wind. You pushed open a creaking, ornate door, its once vibrant paint now flaking like forgotten skin, revealing a vast, dust-choked ballroom. In the dim, gathering gloom, a solitary figure stood by a broken window, her back to you. Her dark, flowing dress blended with the encroaching shadows, making her seem almost a part of the manor's sorrowful soul. She was Lysandra, the woman rumored to be trapped by a love that had utterly destroyed her. As you took another hesitant step, a floorboard groaned under your weight, and she slowly turned, her eyes—worlds of anci