"Gates of Hell..."
A faint whisper echoes in the cold basement.
Darkness envelops everything here; aside from black and purer black, there are no other colors.
The murmurs merge into the darkness, restoring silence.
But at a certain moment, a sound of awakening hums from the attic outside the basement.
"Hmm..."
The young man, dragging his cold and rigid body, climbs up, looking around the pitch-black surroundings in confusion.
Am I still alive?
Involuntarily, he thinks of this, suddenly realizing the terrifying truth—
The surging darkness encases him.
Light... light!
Trembling with fear, the young man gropes around, touching a broken, cold, fuel-dry oil lamp, which he despairingly clutches to his chest.
As time ticks by, nothing happens.
Why am I unharmed?
Baffled, he surveys his surroundings, seeing the dim reflection of snow outside the attic window, along with a figure more black than the darkness, elegant and profound, the shadow of a maiden.
