The cold, suffocating darkness of the dungeon pressed upon them like an unrelenting weight. Ricardo and Lotisia had both succumbed to exhaustion, their bodies too weakened to resist the pull of unconsciousness. But sleep did not bring them peace. It brought nightmares.
Ricardo found himself in the grand halls of the Mors estate, but something was wrong. The walls dripped with blackened blood, pooling at his feet, thick and suffocating. The portraits of his ancestors hung crooked, their eyes gouged out, their mouths twisted in silent screams.
The chandeliers overhead flickered ominously, their flames casting terror-filled shadows that stretched and twisted unnaturally. Then, he heard it. A voice, soft, haunting. "Why?"
He turned sharply, his heart pounding in his chest. The voice was familiar, painfully so. And when he faced it, he felt his blood turn to ice. Fiorensia stood before him, her figure draped in flowing black, her red eyes glowing like embers in the dark.
