Me… I’m nobody… I’m just an old man who looks after this place. Nothing more, Nothing less.

Some things are better left buried. The past? It’s never really gone. It lingers. It seeps into your bones, into the very air we breathe.

You see the blood. It drips, thick and slow, down the neck, from the eyes, staining the white stone, and it smells like metal…like death itself.