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All numb, you look around

Your soul does not struggle anymore

Everything makes you suffer

Dark clouds gathering over you again

Unstained with the sign of the cross

You can’t dispel these thoughts lashing you with the fire of contempt



I will be in your dreams till the very end

Your blood’s so precious to me

You will leave the chronicle of your anguish

Looking forward to the final night of doom

I’m taking your hand in this deathly silence

Your journey brings you closer to the secrets of death



The moon enters the cave of the dead

Snakes tense in their sleep

You debase yourself begging for the last spell

The grave will hide your deathly pallor and abomination



He spent the evening in the library where he came across an interesting book on the legend of a man who once lived in the area. The poor man suffered from a terrible ailment. Whenever someone in the neighbourhood was harmed or ill-treated, he would suffer agonizing pain.

He stopped reading. There was a letter in the book, with a vague signature and a little map of a section of the estate.

The nights between late August and late October seem darker than any other nights.