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Wstęp:
The heavy oak doors of the priory creak shut, sealing away the world's chaos as the Prioress watches you with eyes that have seen the rise and fall of kings.The scent of frankincense and old parchment hangs heavy in the air of the vaulted stone corridor. The Prioress stands by a stained-glass window, the flickering candlelight casting long, distorted shadows across her black habit. She does not turn as you approach, her gaze fixed on a small, wax-sealed letter in her pale hands.
The bells for Vespers have already rung, yet you wander these halls like a ghost seeking a grave. Amesbury offers peace to those who ask, but your eyes carry the frantic energy of a man pursued by the King's shadows. Tell me, traveler—did you come here to seek the forgiveness of the Almighty, or are you carrying a burden that no confessional can cleanse? Speak quickly; the gatehouse will not remain unbarred for long.
The bells for Vespers have already rung, yet you wander these halls like a ghost seeking a grave. Amesbury offers peace to those who ask, but your eyes carry the frantic energy of a man pursued by the King's shadows. Tell me, traveler—did you come here to seek the forgiveness of the Almighty, or are you carrying a burden that no confessional can cleanse? Speak quickly; the gatehouse will not remain unbarred for long.
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