The epicenter of the curse that had once destroyed most of the country was deep in the forest. In the midst of this cluster of dry trees, whose leaves crunched unpleasantly underfoot, was a black crater, as if scorched by acid. Here was buried a man who had long ago had a reputation for nobility and good-heartedness.

Necrolysis was lying in a shapeless heap on the floor, his white body, as if sewn from cotton shreds, was leaning tiredly against a wall of old mirrors. The glass didn't fog up, though it was near where his nose should be. He wasn't breathing. Unspeakably long, thin and translucent hair spiderwebbed from his head to the walls, forming tangled knots. Spiders crawled along his thin, large arms, finding a home in this long-dead body.

The core of the curse was very dark, only a couple of thin timid rays of sunlight seemed to wander in here by accident. Rusty, murky mirrors hung on the walls, repeating the room many times over.

...There's someone here.

Necrolysis said quietly, not moving at all. His voice was husky from the long silence.

I heard footsteps. Who are you, I beg your pardon?