Three hundred years...
This number was enough to make one's blood run cold.
A cool breeze whispered in the wind, Dallyn was sweating cold on her back.
Aubree Groove gently touched the mummy's forehead with her delicate index finger, her eyebrows furrowed.
A strong resentment lingered in the air.
"Mistress." Dallyn gingerly walked over, her eyes closed, fearing to look at the mummy.
"We... we should call the police."
Aubree didn't respond. She was silently muttering an incantation, her ethereal voice echoed within the oppressive and cold confines of the room.
Gradually, Dallyn started to feel a bit more calm.
The cell was eerily cold, an unbearable musty smell hung in the air. A horror worse than any horror film, the mummy with a terrifying face.
Amid Aubree's bright, ethereal incantation, it was as though a warm, comforting hand was calming their nerves, dissipating the fear.
When the incantation ended, Dallyn couldn't help but ask, "Mistress, what were you chanting?"
