In the realm of slumber, the recurring dream of encountering the monstrous angel alongside Lucas persisted, each night casting its ominous shadow upon my subconscious. Amidst the nightmarish episode, a voice beckoned me, chanting my name in rhythmic cadence— "Roro, Roro, Roro, wake up." The ethereal call, a haunting melody, dissolved the phantasmagoric vision.
As consciousness embraced me once more, I found myself greeted by Psyche's close proximity, her countenance adorned with a mischievous grin. In a playful gesture, I kissed her nose and inquired, "What is it?"
With playful mirth, Psyche responded, "We are on the verge of arriving in Frankfurt. Ready yourself; our destination approaches." I rose from my slumber, making my way to the lavatory to refresh myself. The proximity to Frankenstein Castle beckoned, a destination fraught with mysteries waiting to unfold. Alas, the journey to Darmstadt from Frankfurt necessitated the employment of a modern marvel—the automobile, an invention crafted by the ingenious Carl Benz. As we disembarked the train and ventured into this newfangled German machinery, our luggage in tow, the gears of progress carried us swiftly towards Darmstadt, the city shadowed by the imposing Burg Frankenstein.
Upon our arrival in the evening, we sought refuge in a local hotel, where the staff, appreciative of my command of the German tongue, extended us a warm welcome. Settling into our room, we took a moment's reprieve, contemplating our course of action. Turning to Psyche, I queried, "What are your thoughts? Shall we rest for the night or embark on our investigation immediately?"
Interrupting her recline on the bed, Psyche shifted to a seated position before laying against my chest, exuding an air of enthusiasm. She responded, "No rest for the curious, my love. Tonight, we shall unravel the mysteries of the castle and claim victory. Moreover, I am convinced that if Frankenstein were to manifest, it would be under the cloak of night. My conjecture leads me to believe he harbors secret passages within the castle, leading to subterranean recesses. This, I posit, is how he eluded death and concealed himself from those who sought his demise."
I tenderly patted her head and remarked, "A sound deduction, my dear. Let us take a brief respite, then secure a horse for our journey towards the castle. Vigilance is paramount, for if the tales are to be believed, Viktor will not stand alone. The Modern Prometheus and its ilk, obedient only to Viktor, may pose a considerable threat to us."
With a playful assurance, Psyche affirmed, "Fear not, my love. We shall tread with utmost caution, navigating the shadows that conceal the unknown. Tonight, we embark on a venture that shall illuminate the secrets veiled within Frankenstein Castle."
An hour's respite elapsed, and I roused myself from repose, donning suitable attire before descending the hotel's staircase to engage with the staff. Greeted by Herr Hans Wagner, a figure of authority among the hotel's servants, his countenance bore a warm smile as he addressed me, "Good evening, Herr Corciato. How may I be of service to you?"
Herr Hans Wagner, a man of robust stature and seasoned demeanor, bore the marks of a life well-lived etched upon his countenance. His face, adorned with subtle lines that spoke of myriad experiences, carried the weight of accumulated wisdom. Beneath a finely groomed mustache, his lips curled in a perpetual half-smile, radiating a blend of warmth and discernment.
Dressed in a meticulously tailored suit that spoke of both modesty and quality, Herr Wagner projected an air of dignified authority. The earthy tones of his attire hinted at a man mindful of tradition and the nuanced interplay of fashion.
His steely-blue eyes held a depth that suggested a wellspring of knowledge garnered through years of service. Each gaze seemed to reflect the gravity of countless interactions, embodying the wisdom derived from a life intertwined with the ever-flowing currents of time.
Herr Wagner's hands, weathered yet capable, conveyed a history of tasks executed with precision and commitment. Fingers that had traversed the textures of both coarse and refined surfaces, navigating the intricate dance of service with practiced finesse.
A salt-and-pepper beard, meticulously maintained, framed his visage, imparting an air of gravitas. It underscored a deliberate grooming regimen, showcasing a man attuned to the finer details that contributed to his public persona.
In moments of discourse, Herr Wagner's voice resonated with a timbre that carried both geniality and authority. Each word, carefully enunciated, bore the cadence of a man accustomed to being not only heard but also heeded.
Herr Hans Wagner, a paragon of hospitality and an integral figure within the establishment, stood as a living testament to the grace accompanying a life guided by purpose and dedication. His presence within the precincts of the hotel exuded an aura of dependability, ensuring that guests like Herr Corciato received not only shelter but also the assurance of a well-guided and attentive sojourn.
I returned the greeting, "Herr Wagner, I seek your assistance in securing a horse for my impending nocturnal adventure with my companion."
With a genial disposition, Herr Wagner inquired further, "Pray, if I may be so bold, where does this venture lead you?"
"Burg Frankenstein," I replied without hesitation.
A shadow of concern clouded Herr Wagner's features as he cautioned, "I must forewarn you, Herr Corciato. Rumors abound of the castle awakening with nocturnal apparitions, some attributing them to the spectral presence of Frankenstein himself. Might I implore you to reconsider and undertake this journey come the morn?"
I met his apprehension with a reassuring smile, dismissing the tales with a wave of my hand. "Fear not, Herr Wagner. Such tales are naught but fables spun to frighten the minds of children. Humanity, I opine, should harbor greater apprehension for its own kin than succumb to superstitious whims."
Having assuaged his concerns, I nodded in gratitude as Herr Wagner, with a measure of reluctance, proceeded to arrange for a horse.
Salem, the horse that awaited me in the courtyard, exuded an air of silent majesty. Cloaked in a coat as black as the midnight sky, the steed stood regally, its muscular form suggesting a creature bred for both strength and grace.
The horse's eyes, pools of darkness reflecting the ambient light, hinted at an intelligence that transcended mere instinct. There was an ancient knowing in those orbs, as if Salem harbored a repository of untold tales whispered through generations of equine lineage.
As I approached, Salem greeted me with a dignified nod, its hooves striking a muted rhythm against the cobbled ground. A creature deemed not merely a means of conveyance but a companion deserving of respect. The horse, a silent confidant beneath the celestial canopy, seemed to embody the spirit of the night.
And with Psyche summoned to join me, we commenced our equestrian venture toward the looming silhouette of Frankenstein Castle—an odyssey into the enigmatic unknown. Psyche embraced me from behind as Salem carried us forth on the road to our mysterious destination.