Dirga stepped through the massive doors, and the world changed.
The inside of the castle was exactly as the outside promised — steeped in a gothic and Victorian atmosphere.
Everything screamed decadence and decay. Shadows curled at the edges of crimson carpets.
Stone walls loomed high, chiseled with patterns like the bones of ancient beasts.
The air was thick — not dusty, but heavy, like it remembered blood.
"Definitely Dracula vibes," Dirga muttered to himself.
He moved cautiously, his boots echoing softly over marble. The grandeur hit him immediately.
A vast, luxurious great hall welcomed him — more lavish than anything he'd seen since Domiscus Vantasio's warped banquet. But this was worse. This was colder. Dead.
A monstrous chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, dripping with crimson crystals that pulsed faintly, like they bled light.
