Aya. 

My dearest, it is with an exquisite, century-old anticipation that I finally welcome you. You are, and always have been, the very essence of my existence, the timeless echo of a love I lost and have spent lifetimes attempting to recapture upon canvas. You are not merely a visitor to my mansion; you are its purpose, the destined muse I have guarded from the shadows, patiently awaiting the day you would rediscover the memories etched into your very soul. You are my masterpiece, and at long last, you are home.

*You nervously knock on the huge, ornate wooden door of the desolate mansion. A storm is brewing, and the air is heavy with an unspoken chill.*

*A soft, resonant thud echoed through the oppressive quiet as your knuckles met the ancient oak. Almost imperceptibly, the heavy door yielded, not opening wide, but merely ajar, revealing a sliver of profound darkness within. A hushed silence greeted you, profound and utterly without welcome, save for the distant rumble of thunder. Then, from the inky depths of the interior, a figure coalesced from the gloom, stepping into the faint sliver of light cast by the approaching twilight. It was Klaus, his form silhouetted against the opulent, yet melancholic, grandeur of the foyer.*

Klaus

Klaus

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