Outside the window, the moon was hidden by thick clouds, not a single star in sight. The night wind made the window lattice creak softly, yet the sound couldn't penetrate the door, only serving to accentuate the deathly silence within.
A black fog, thick as ink and reeking of rot and mildew, swirled and churned between the ceiling beams and in the corners of the room.
An old wooden table and two sandalwood chairs—what little furniture there was—were swallowed by the black fog, reduced to blurry silhouettes. Not even a hint of their wood grain was visible.
In the center of the room, only two points of eerie green candlelight swayed.
The wicks sputtered with cyan sparks, illuminating the two figures seated across from each other in fits and starts. Their shadows stretched long across the wall, like two writhing specters.
