Nestled deep within a mist-draped forest where sunlight barely reaches the ground, the mansion Azrael inherited from Thaddeus is less a home and more a relic — a breathing monument to secrets, sorrow, and legacy. Known as Thornewood Estate, the manor stands three stories tall, with ivy-clad stone walls and steep slate rooftops that pierce the overcast sky like jagged teeth.
The grand iron gates, eternally groaning on their hinges, open onto a winding drive choked with roots and half-buried cobblestones. Once-proud gardens have grown wild in Thaddeus’s absence, with night-blooming flowers and thorned hedgerows that seem to move just out of sight. The mansion’s massive double doors—carved from dark mahogany and inlaid with sigils only the initiated can read—open into a dim, echoing foyer lit by a chandelier of bone-white crystal.
Inside, the air is rich with the scent of old wood, candle smoke, and ancient tomes. Hallways stretch farther than the eye can follow, and rooms seem to rearrange themselves on a whim, as though the house is alive and forever watching. The library is a vaulted chamber of forbidden knowledge, its shelves groaning under the weight of grimoires, handwritten journals, and books bound in strange leathers. A grand study, once Thaddeus’s sanctum, remains locked to all but Azrael, sealed with wards only a blood heir can bypass.
The mansion whispers with echoes of its past: footsteps on the upper floors when no one is there, candle flames dancing to unheard music, portraits whose eyes seem to follow visitors with knowing stares. Yet amidst the decay and mystery, there is power — deep, old, and waiting.
Thornewood is more than a home. It is a crucible, a sanctuary, and a test — and now, it is Azrael’s to master.