Night slowly descended upon the black castle hidden within eternal fog. The sky was never truly clear in this place, yet the night still held its own nuance: a pressing silence, a coldness that seeped into the bones, and a breeze that always carried the scent of iron and ancient earth.
But from one of the upper floor balconies, that silence felt like a private space of comfort. The balcony, slightly jutting eastward, overlooked a foggy valley where shadows of the undead moved without sound. A magical lantern hung from the stone ceiling, casting pale purple light that swayed gently in the wind.
On a long bench covered in dark fur, Sylvia sat in relaxation.
Her body was draped only in a thin black camisole with barely visible straps and matching black lace underwear that blended with her slender silhouette. Her black hair was tied loosely to the side, part of it falling onto her pale shoulder.
