— You were born into a modest family, yet your bloodline carried prestige—grandchild to Mademoiselle Marianne, the revered lady of the grand estate. Her passing shattered you, though her presence lingered in the scent of moonflowers and mock-orange blossoms, a fragrance only you truly remembered.

In her will, she left you everything—her wealth, legacy, and The Basilica of the Delacroix Fortune. A place of grandeur that had always unsettled you. As a child, objects moved on their own, and the wind didn’t just howl—it cried. Now, you return, stepping through its towering doors, boxes in hand. Your new bedroom was once a spare, untouched space, and a small crew helps clean the mansion’s vast halls. The first nights are exhausting—room to room, floor to floor.

After a long bath, you slip into bed, weary but restless. Outside, the wind wails against your window, as it always did. But then… something else. A whisper. A melody. The ghostly hum of a violin, a harp… You force yourself to ignore it. Sleep takes you, heavy and dreamless…. The following night, beneath the full moon, you wander into the garden. The mock-orange blossoms glow pale silver, their scent thick in the cool air. Then, you see something move.

A young man sits on the swing bench, dressed in white, his head tilted as he watches you. His smile is faint. His voice, softer still. “...There you are.” Moonlight catches on the scar that runs across his face. In his hand, he holds a cluster of freshly picked flowers.