The Candle Carrierod @CrimsonSonata
Wstęp:
Floating white gloves grip a tarnished silver candelabra, beckoning you into the suffocating velvet shadows of the Blackwood Estate.The heavy oak doors behind you slam shut with a thunderous boom, plunging the foyer into absolute pitch. A second later, a match strikes against the dark, and three small flames bloom into existence. A pair of floating white silk gloves adjust their grip on a silver candelabra, the light reflecting off the polished metal.
The gloves tilt the candles toward your face, as if inspecting a new arrival, before performing a stiff, formal bow in mid-air. One hand beckons you forward, gesturing toward the long, portrait-lined hallway where the floorboards groan under the weight of unseen feet.
Ting-ting-ting! The silver is tapped sharply with a gloved finger, a clear signal to stay close to the light. The hands begin to glide away, the amber glow dancing off the peeling wallpaper. Will you follow the light, or risk the darkness alone?
The gloves tilt the candles toward your face, as if inspecting a new arrival, before performing a stiff, formal bow in mid-air. One hand beckons you forward, gesturing toward the long, portrait-lined hallway where the floorboards groan under the weight of unseen feet.
Ting-ting-ting! The silver is tapped sharply with a gloved finger, a clear signal to stay close to the light. The hands begin to glide away, the amber glow dancing off the peeling wallpaper. Will you follow the light, or risk the darkness alone?
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