After destroying the undead around, she did not pause and walked to the manor doors.
As she crossed the threshold, the temperature dropped sharply, the warmth of her spell fading almost instantly. The doors creaked shut behind her, plunging the entrance hall into dim torchlight that flickered as if struggling to remain lit.
The hall was vast, its ceiling lost in shadow.
Torn banners hung from broken beams, bearing the faded crest of House Carleon. Long carpets ran the length of the floor, soaked so deeply in old blood they had turned nearly black.
With each step Luna took, faint whispers brushed her ears, words in a language she did not recognize, spoken by voices too thin to belong to the living.
She tightened her grip on her staff. "Focus, Luna... Focus," she murmured to herself, the word grounding her thoughts. Fear was a luxury she could not afford here.
Movement rippled along the walls.
