Whispers of The Hollow

erhead like skeletal fingers, their bare branches scraping against one another in the cold autumn wind. The dirt p

ession unreadable. His fingers tapped idly against his knee, his only companion on this journey being the di

n too many years, hadn't spoken much since their departure from Black

ed, his voice wary. "Not ma

thin smile. Superstitions,

ury. Its last known inhabitant-a distant relative Victor had never me

the letter that had summoned him here. The parchment

ictor

Hollow bloodline. Hollow Manor, and

e house does not forge

pressed into the bottom of the page-an ee

uch tales, exposing fraudulent mystics, unraveling the delusions of the gu

ght the carriage

iver muttered, not t

damp gravel. A thick fog clung to the air,

ere it

ow M

racked, overtaken by ivy and rot. The towering windows, black and empty, seemed to watch him wit

f breath into the cold air. Then, with a

That B

t interior. Dust motes danced in the dim light that filtered thro

he second floor, its wooden banister adorned with strange, unreadable carvings. Along the walls, faded portrai

a wh

Indi

ears straining a

ome from the pa

he stepp

vered sheets, stood like mourners around a long-dead fireplace. Above the mantel h

he fa

taken a cloth and erased his features, le

tling, the way the faceless figure seeme

-a s

cra