A Worried Sister, A Broken Brother
In the chilling embrace of Dreadthorne Castle, a figure glided through a desolate hall, her seductive dark blue gown clinging to her slender frame, accentuating her every sinuous movement.
Her eyes, a haunting shade of ghostly red, sparkled with an impish delight while her mischievous smile twisted the corners of her full, blood-red lips upwards.
Long silver hair danced behind her, seeming to have a life of its own in the cold drafts that traveled through the halls devoid of servants or maids.
Strangely, not a single soul stirred in this corridor of the castle.
Upon reaching her destination, the room at the corridor's end, a bottle of crimson liquid appeared in her hand as if conjured by thought alone.
With a flick of her wrist, the dark blue door swung open, revealing the room's occupant in a scene untouched by time.