"Do you hear that, Master? The walls are weeping," one of the junior servants whispered, her voice trembling so violently that the silver tray she held rattled against her knuckles. She stood in the main corridor, her face pale as parchment, staring at the floorboards that seemed to be darkening under the heavy, oppressive atmosphere.
Gillian did not look at her. He remained motionless at the end of the long hallway, his back turned to the cowering staff. The air around him was freezing, far colder than the winter air outside. It felt as though the very oxygen had been sucked out of the manor, replaced by a thick, stagnant dread that made every heartbeat feel like a labor. He had retreated into himself, trying to cage the agony that now roared through his veins like a wildfire in a drou
