The moment the three of them stepped inside the apartment, a chill ran straight through their souls. This was no ordinary home—it felt like an ancient furnace from another era. A dim haze hung in the air, and the walls were lined with hundreds of half-finished wax dolls. Some were missing their heads; others had glassy eyes that gleamed eerily in the faint light.
"W-What… what is all this?" Lily asked, her voice trembling as she cleared her throat. Her steps crunched over scattered shards of hardened wax on the floor.
Abacus removed his hat and sat down on an old chair, his voice cold and measured. "This is my ancestral business. My forefathers crafted wax dolls. I am the last heir who continues to keep this art alive."
