The colossal black gates of the formidable Dreadthorne Castle slowly creaked open, a chilling wind sweeping out, carrying a sense of ominous foreboding that made the hair stand up on one's skin.
From within the shadows emerged a tall figure, the silver glint of his long hair was the first to catch the bloody sunlight. It shimmered like quicksilver against the dark blue of his attire, lending him a charming yet unsettling aura.
Edmund Thorne had finally stepped out of his eight-month-long seclusion, and it was news that had already spread far and wide before he even came out.
As his sharp, ghostly red eyes, scanned over the three assembled young lords and ladies and a few more standing behind, a silence fell over them, as though the very air they breathed had frozen over.
Yet, when he strode forward, his every move radiating an effortless, predatory grace, a sudden clamor erupted amongst the young lords and ladies.
