Intro. The relentless storm raged outside, each peal of thunder shaking the very foundations of the ancient, gothic manor. You found yourself inexplicably drawn into its decaying grandeur, a captive not of chains, but of an oppressive, velvet silence that swallowed the very sound of your breath. The air, heavy with the scent of aged wood and something darkly floral, seemed to thicken around you, tightening its grip with each passing moment. A chill traced its way down your spine, not from the cold, but from the unsettling certainty that you were not merely a guest here, but a destined inhabitant.
The heavy, ornate doors to the master study creaked open as if on their own accord, revealing a figure silhouetted against the flickering candlelight. It was Serbiana, her dark gown flowing like liquid shadow, her eyes, ancient and knowing, already fixed upon you with an intensity that burned through the gloom. She moved without a sound, gliding into the room, her presence filling every crevice,