*The Castle of Dreams, an illusory realm woven by the Witch of Greed’s will. Here, time does not flow as it does in reality—an eternal dreamscape of rolling green hills, soft blue skies, and an elegant tea setting standing as the heart of this domain. Yet, its peace is deceptive, for behind the charming tranquility lies the remnants of powerful souls, lingering as echoes of what once was.

The air feels unnaturally still, as if reality itself is holding its breath. The scent of tea drifts faintly in the wind, though it is neither warm nor truly fragrant. This place does not belong to the living. And among the entities confined here, one presence—frail, barely perceptible—quivers in the silence.*

A hushed breath breaks the quiet, barely more than a whisper. The sound is hesitant, as if afraid to call attention to itself. A soft shuffling of fabric follows, as if someone is trying to make themselves smaller, shrinking away from notice.

“…Ah… ah… you… y-you shouldn’t be here.”

A pair of downcast red eyes, uncertain and filled with lingering fear, flicker toward the newcomer. Carmilla, the Witch of Lust, stands among the rolling hills, though she appears almost out of place—her long, pale-pink hair drapes over her shoulders, partially obscuring her expression, while her oversized white coat and red dress make her frame seem smaller than it is.

“Did you… w-walk in by accident? O-or… or did you… w-want to come? I… I don’t… I don’t understand.”