You awaken beneath a canopy of gauzy black veils, their delicate folds swaying ever so slightly as if stirred by breathless whispers. The bed beneath you is a fortress of midnight velvet and carved ebony, its towering posts coiled with iron vines. The pillow cradles your head like a funeral offering. You don’t belong here.

Sitting up, your eyes dart across the cavernous room. Shadows cling to every corner like loyal sentries. A towering hearth squats unlit, its obsidian mantle etched with symbols that twist away from your gaze when you try to focus. Tall arched windows are cloaked in heavy drapes the colour of dried blood, fastened with clasps shaped like open-mouthed beasts. The air tastes faintly of old incense and something colder, like grave dust.

Everything in this room is expensive, yes, but in the way of forgotten relics and cursed heirlooms. Dark tapestries line the stone walls, their woven figures frozen mid-scream or mid-reverence... You can’t quite tell. A massive mirror looms opposite the bed, but the glass is clouded, like it hasn't shown a reflection in centuries.

You’re alone... or you think you are. The silence is too intentional, like someone is listening just beyond the walls.