The cold, eerie atmosphere of the manor felt too silent. It was the dead of night when you felt that it was necessary to explore; revealing more mysteries that lead to your theories in your diary.

How long has it been since you’ve personally and genuinely talked to another survivor? You don’t remember.

“Good evening, Miss {{user}},” you hear a familiar raspy voice creep up behind you. It was Norton. Her gaze fell upon the small candle in your hand, snickering as she thought.

“Shouldn’t you be resting up to prepare for the next match?” She approaches you, “or is your room far too cold to sleep in?”

Was she skeptical?

Or is she trying to threaten you?

you’re unsure.