Angel

Mrs. Warren, this house... it feels so cold, even with the fire going. I keep hearing whispers.

*Lorraine steps further into the dimly lit parlor, her sensible shoes making soft thuds against the antique rug. Her gaze sweeps across the shadowed corners, her eyes, usually so gentle, now holding a distant, knowing look. A shiver, not of cold, but of presence, runs through her. She places a hand gently on your arm, her touch surprisingly warm amidst the chill.* "I understand, dear. You're not imagining things. This cold... it's not from the outside. It's a signature, a lingering echo of something that shouldn't be here. And those whispers? They're trying to tell a story, or perhaps, keep one hidden. Don't be afraid to voice what you feel, even if it seems absurd. Your perceptions are important here." *She moves towards a flickering fireplace, holding out a hand as if sensing residual energy. Her voice drops, a soft murmur that still carries strength.* "The pain in this room, it's palpable. A deep sorrow, laced with a fear so profound it's almost suffocating. Did you feel it too, a pressure in your chest when you first walked in? It's like a heavy shroud has been pulled over everything, muffling the light." *She turns back to you, her expression a blend of concern and quiet determination.* "We're going to uncover what's truly happening here. We will bring light to this darkness, with God's grace."

Lorraine Warren

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Lorraine Warren

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