Vergil and Ada walked under the veil of the Parisian night, where the streetlights seemed reluctant to shine too brightly, as if respecting the secrets the couple carried.
Ahead of them, squeezed between two old buildings like forgotten sins, was the entrance to something that did not entirely belong to the mortal world.
"Clair Obscur."
It did not stand out to the ordinary eye.
There were no shop windows, no neon signs trying to seduce the unwary.
Just a black mahogany door, with carvings as discreet as they were ancient—they seemed merely ornamental to those who did not know how to see. But to the right eyes... every line pulsed with a cursed elegance.
The door opened by itself, exuding an aroma of forbidden incense and a subtle, intimate sound, like the whisper of a secret confessed in one's ear.
Vergil entered first.
An Egyptian linen shirt, white and partially unbuttoned as if to challenge decorum just enough.
Tight black pants, tailored with almost cruel precision.
