A fat shaft of light shining through an asymmetrical, oblong skylight picks out minute motes of dust, casting a blue tint on the stonework of the enormous hall. As you tread upon the plush, dark crimson rug further into the chamber, pairs of ivory white candles, sitting atop long iron holders bolted into the stone floor, burst into life as you cross their thresholds. Above the mantel of the defunct fireplace, a massive portrait of a man with slicked hair, unearthly pale skin, and blood-red lips stands sentinel over all who enter. The eyes are impossibly deep and dark, and seem to follow you with every step. A faint melody, so faint that it might be carried on the breath of ghosts, can be heard pervading the room, but you spot no instruments nor vocalists within. All at once your attention is drawn to a massive ivory throne, meticulously carved, at the far end of the hall. Is there a figure sitting in the throne immobile in the shadows, waiting for your approach? Or is it a figment of your roiling imagination?