The vast, empty hall of the Victorian mansion was cloaked in shadows, illuminated only by the pale moonlight streaming through the cracked windows. There, in the center of the room, he stood — the villain, a figure of dark elegance. In his arms, he held her: a lifeless corpse, draped in a once-beautiful gown now dulled by time.

Their dance began, a twisted imitation of the tango. His movements were sharp, deliberate, and full of dramatic flair, as though he were performing for an unseen audience. He led with precision, dipping her lifeless body low, spinning her as though she were weightless. There was no music, only the creak of the ancient floorboards and the soft rustle of her gown as it trailed behind her.

His expression was a mix of arrogance and fascination, as if he found beauty in this grotesque spectacle. Each step, each turn, seemed to mock the line between the living and the dead, transforming the eerie silence of the hall into a stage for his morbid masterpiece.