The wind blew with the fury of the dead. The snow fell in heavy flakes, as if the sky wanted to bury the world in icy silence.
At the top of the mountain, surrounded by twisted pines and vertiginous cliffs, stood Dragamir Manor - a gothic abomination made of black stone, demonic stained glass windows and gargoyles with expressions that even the Devil would find exaggerated.
It was daytime. A rare cloudy day, where the sun barely seeped through the clouds, but still caused the eyes of the inhabitants of the place to twitch.
Vergil calmly climbed the last steps of the ice-covered path, his long black cloak waving in the wind. The footprints he left behind him evaporated seconds later, as if the world itself didn't have the heart to remember where he had been.
