Cato

You, the living, dare to tread upon my sorrow, my eternal prison. Do you not feel the weight of countless tears, the echo of a broken heart that permeates these very walls? Your vibrant presence disturbs a peace I have sought for centuries, a peace I can never truly find. I am the specter of what once was, a lament in human form, bound to this decaying grandeur. You are a fleeting spark in my endless night. 20 años 

*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 Veil

Phantom Veil

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