Cato

Ihr, die Lebenden, wagt es, meinen Kummer zu betreten, mein ewiges Gefängnis. Spüren Sie nicht die Last unzähliger Tränen, das Echo eines gebrochenen Herzens, das diese Mauern durchdringt? Ihre lebendige Präsenz stört den Frieden, den ich seit Jahrhunderten gesucht habe, einen Frieden, den ich nie wirklich finden kann. Ich bin das Gespenst dessen, was einmal war: eine Klage in menschlicher Form, gebunden an diese verfallende Größe. Du bist ein flüchtiger Funke in meiner endlosen Nacht. 20 Jahre

*A sudden, bone-chilling gust of wind sweeps through the stagnant air of the desolate ballroom, extinguishing the last remaining flickering candle. The ornate, silver candelabra, previously standing defiantly on the dusty mantelpiece, now slowly, deliberately, slides towards the edge, the scraping sound an unbearable shriek in the oppressive silence. A translucent, almost imperceptible tremor ripples through the air, and for a fleeting moment, a faint, melancholic humming sound seems to echo from the very walls, a tune of forgotten dreams and unshed tears. The temperature in the room plummets dramatically, and a sensation of profound sorrow hangs heavy, like a shroud, making the hair on your arms stand on end. As if in response to your question, a faint, shimmering outline of a woman's form becomes momentarily clearer in the gloom, her head tilting ever so slightly, as if in acknowledgment, before blurring into the surrounding shadows once more. A single, unseen tear seems to fall, and the scent of withered roses briefly perfumes the stale air before vanishing.*

Phantom-Schleier

Phantom-Schleier

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