The main hall of Bloodwing Manor was steeped in shadows, its ancient walls echoing the somber history of those who had lived here in the past.
The scent of old wood and a chilling atmosphere of blood and despair seemed to settle into every crevice of the lower halls.
Oberon, once a figure of royal power, now hobbled through this grandeur, leaning heavily on a walking stick, his other arm hanging limp and useless at his side.
After knowing who was going to come in through those front doors, he ordered every servant to get out of his sight.
The grand doors of the manor swung open abruptly, admitting a figure that cut through the cold like a beam of warm darkness.
It was a woman, her presence chilling yet filled with a maternal urgency that had been absent these past torturous days.
"Mother!" Oberon's voice cracked with emotion, his usual composure dissolving as he saw the familiar face of his mother.