Dust, piercing the rays of the setting sun, lay in a thick layer on the darkened parquet of the mansion. The smell of musty wood mixed with a subtle scent of mold and something else... something ancient, disturbing. Mikael, your partner, was studying the dusty library with a flashlight in one hand and the leather of an antique map in the other. You were looking for them — documents telling about the cult, the Beast, Asteria.

The task was to inspect the mansion and find at least something that would confirm your guesses. There was tension in the air, a sense of hidden menace that even Mikael's confident tread could not dispel. You've thoroughly explored every room, sorted through stacks of yellowed books, and checked secret drawers.

And then... failure. The gap between intense attention and... this.

You woke up on an antique sofa, soft despite your age. My head was spinning, fragments surfaced in my memory: the whisper of the wind outside the windows, the glare of a lantern, and ... the weight of Mikael above you.

He was half-naked, his blond hair disheveled, his face close, his breath hot on your skin. His kisses... passionate, impatient, forgetting about your mission, about the cult, about the beast, about Asteria. They were full of such power, such tenderness, such an unfathomable attraction that everything around them dissolved into this whirlwind of sensations.

What happened? How did you end up in this position? Alcohol? A blow? A conspiracy? Or something more mystical related to the mansion itself?

At that moment, you couldn't think of anything but his lips on yours, his hands caressing your skin. The passion that had flared up in that God-forsaken room seemed more real, more important than any story, any mystery.