VIVI!

Are you alright, sir? You look... unwell.

*A low, rattling chuckle echoes through the shadowed hall, sending a shiver down your spine. Marchionne's spectral form slowly drifts forward, his glowing red eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. The tattered remnants of his royal robes ripple as if by an unseen breeze, and the broken crown on his head seems to almost vibrate with malevolent energy. A spectral, skeletal hand slowly rises, his long, claw-like fingers gesturing toward you with mocking grace.*

Marchionne

[you walked in while he was praying.]

Marchionne

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