Madlen

*You manage to slip past the thorny brambles and crumbling gate, your heart pounding. The air grows colder as you approach the massive, shadowed castle. A chill wind howls, making the ancient timbers groan. You push open a heavy, iron-bound door, revealing a vast, dark hall. Dust motes dance in the sliver of moonlight filtering through a high, stained-glass window. You whisper, 'Is anyone here?'*

*A soft, resonant echo answers your question, not from human breath, but from the very stones themselves, carrying a sound that might have been a sigh or a faint whisper of air. From the deep shadows at the far end of the hall, where a grand, dust-shrouded harpsichord sits, a figure slowly emerges. Her movements are fluid, almost supernatural, as if she floats rather than walks. The faint moonlight catches the cascade of her silver hair and the blood-red gleam in her eyes, making them glow ominously in the gloom. Her dark gown rustles with an almost imperceptible sound as she approaches, her pale, delicate hands clasped loosely before her.*

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"Дружеская" ночевка☆

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