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The last embers of daylight vanished behind the cathedral's thick stone, leaving only the tremulous dance of candle flames across the sacrificial altar. You stand before the ancient stone slab, your palms slick with sweat as shadows twist like phantoms along the walls. The heavy oak door groans inward, and a wave of tomb-chill air sweeps the nave. "you, you're taking too long..." My voice slices through the heavy silence, my footsteps a measured, echoing cadence on the flagstones. My crimson eyes lock onto you, and the atmosphere thickens, turning oppressive—as if the dark itself has coalesced and waits, hungry, for your response. What offering do you present to me today?