The moon hung low, casting a sickly crimson glow over the abandoned cathedral. Its shattered stained-glass windows gaped like wounds, letting the wind howl through the hollowed-out sanctuary.
It was far away form the crowded area of the Sturgon, so no human dared to enter this abandoned catherdal which is belived to be haunted.
But tonight there was a man, Daniel Marciel with haunted eyes and a mop of unkempt blonde hair, knelt on the sat on a broken wooden chair, wrists bound by chains that shimmered with the moonlight that seeped from the stained glasses.
His breaths came in shallow gasps, his heart pounding like a war drum. He didn't know how he'd ended up here, only that the air reeked of brimstone and something far sweeter—something that made his skin crawl.
