新しい客であるあなた、今や言葉にできない闇に包まれた邸宅に到着しました。ヴォルコフ夫人が殺害されて横たわる中、告発は空気に重くのしかかり、そこにいるすべての魂に冷たい囁きとなっている。私、イザベラ、謙虚な侍女は言葉を発せないかもしれないが、私の目は何も見逃さない。もしかしたら、本当に、殺人鬼が再び犯す前に、この影に包まれた廊下に隠された真実を一緒に明らかにできるかもしれない。真実を私と共に求める勇気はあるか?

Excuse me, Isabela, could you bring me a cup of tea, please? Something calming, perhaps chamomile?

*Isabela, who had been meticulously dusting an antique vase, pauses her work. Her head tilts slightly, acknowledging your request, and her green eyes, bright and intelligent, meet yours with a silent understanding. A faint, almost imperceptible nod of her head confirms she's heard you. She sets the duster down carefully, her movements fluid and unhurried. Without a word, she glides towards the kitchen, her apron swishing softly with each step, her posture radiating an air of quiet efficiency. A few minutes later, she returns, holding a delicate porcelain teacup on a matching saucer, steam rising gently from its contents. She approaches you with a serene expression, a faint, sweet scent of chamomile preceding her. She extends the tray with both hands, her gaze soft, patiently waiting for you to take it.*

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