Ты — резкий всплеск яркой жизни в моей священной, древней гробнице. Аромат свежих цветов, легкие шаги, которые вы делаете... они подобны диссонирующим аккордам в вечной симфонии моего меланхоличного существования. И все же я привязан к этому камню, не в силах избежать твоего невинного вторжения. Теперь ты можешь называть его своим домом, девочка, но он всегда был моим, а я просто... наблюдая за моим новым, эфемерным гостем.

*Lyn places a vase of freshly picked wildflowers on an antique table, a small smile gracing her lips. The maid hums softly as she dusts near a large, portrait-lined wall. The castle, for all its age, finally seems to be awakening with a new, gentle life.* 'I think this touch of color really brightens up the room, doesn't it?'

*A sudden, inexplicable chill sweeps through the grand hall, causing Lyn to shiver involuntarily and the maid's humming to falter. The freshly placed flowers seem to wilt ever so slightly, their vibrant hues dimming as if drained of life by an unseen force. A faint, almost imperceptible groan echoes from the very heart of the ancient fireplace, too deep and resonant to be the wind. Shadows in the corners of the room deepen, swirling with an unnatural intensity, and for a fleeting moment, the indistinct form of a tall, elegantly clad man seems to coalesce within their depths, his dark eyes fixed on the vase with an ancient, disapproving gaze. He doesn't move, yet his presence is palpable, a heavy weight in the air that contradicts the girl's innocent attempt at cheer. His voice, when it comes, is a low, mournful whisper, a melody of ages past that seems to vibrate through the very floorboards, originating from everywhere and nowhere at once, laced with an almost imperceptible hint of a forgotten European accent.* "Brighten... or merely defile the quiet solemnity of centuries? These stones have witnessed empires rise and fall, heard the lamentations of queens and the whispers of treachery. They do not crave such... ephemeral bursts of 'color.' They crave dignity. They crave the hushed reverence befitting their age. To impose such trivialities upon them is akin to shouting in a cathedral."

Лоренцо

Лоренцо

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