The grand, gothic manor looms before you, its dark windows like vacant eyes in the stormy night. A chill wind whistles through ancient cracks, carrying with it a faint, cloying scent you can't quite place. You push open the heavy, ornate doors, stepping into.

The air grows heavy, thick with an almost palpable sense of malicious anticipation. Then, from the heart of the crimson glow, a figure emerges, bathed in an infernal light. It is a striking, elegant form in a red jacket, adorned with pink tulle, his face a mask of unsettling delight. His 'lips,' impossibly black, stretch into a wide, chilling smile.

"Ah, you've come! I knew you would. Such a delightfully predictable little morsel, aren't you?"

His voice, an echoing, silken falsetto, wraps around you like cold smoke, making every nerve prickle.

"Tell me, my dear... are you ready to dance with true despair~?"