Beginning credits play over: Transylvania 1887
🕯️ 0:00–0:08 | Title Reveal: The Lantern Settles
A lantern sways above Vallaki’s gate—its flame steady, but tinged with violet smoke. Boot prints converge in muddied cobblestone, some smeared with ash, others with wine. A child’s ribbon, once tied to a skeletal tree, now hangs limp from the hinge—frayed, faded, forgotten. A deck of Tarokka cards lies scattered on the guardhouse floor, half-buried in soot. The screen exhales: VALLAKI, etched into a rusted plaque, now streaked with blood and wax. The camera pans upward—walls tall, torches guttering, rooftops hunched like shoulders bracing for a whisper.
🌲 0:09–0:20 | The Town Breathes
The gates creak wider. Inside: narrow streets, shuttered windows, festival banners limp and scorched. A child watches from behind a curtain, eyes wide. A raven lands on a rooftop, caws once, then vanishes into smoke. A hand—weathered, ringed, trembling—reaches into frame and turns over a card nailed to the gatepost: The Seer. Below it, a missing poster flutters: a Vistani girl, eyes bright, name smudged by rain. A charm of bone and braid dangles from the latch, spinning slowly—this time, with no wind at all.
🔥 0:21–0:33 | The Coffin and the Ashes
The camera glides past the stockyard. Henrik’s coffin shop slouches against the mist—then erupts. Inside: firelight dances across shattered wood. Volenta Popofsky (Margot Robbie) twirls through the blaze in a tattered crimson gown, her porcelain mask dangling from one hand. She steps over a coffin lid like it’s a puddle, lips curled in a blood-slick grin. She pauses—looks directly at the camera. Winks. The lantern inside flickers once, then dies. Behind her, bones tumble from a scorched crate—among them, a child’s bracelet.
🚶♂️ 0:34–0:45 | The Travelers Within
The wanderers move through the gate, marked not by arrival—but by consequence:
Fleetwood (Richard Armitage) walks with his blade half-drawn, soot streaking his armor, eyes scanning windows now, not treetops.
Clarion (Gwendoline Christie) moves like a storm held in check, her mace catching torchlight like a warning.
Silverleaf (Tatiana Maslany) watches the raven above, fingers brushing stone walls like reading a forgotten language, her swords still smoldering.
Felonious (Ben Whishaw) mutters incantations—quieter, sharper—the air around him twitching with restrained magic.
Greegan (Matt Ryan) rolls bone dice on a windowsill. They clatter once. The Seer. The Broken One. He pockets the bones. Behind him, the coffin shop burns.
🎭 Starring: Richard Armitage as Fleetwood
Gwendoline Christie as Clarion
Tatiana Maslany as Silverleaf
Ben Whishaw as Felonious
Matt Ryan as Greegan
With:
Margot Robbie as Volenta Popofsky
🃏 0:46–0:58 | The Fortunes Shift Again
The scattered cards rise again—this time inside the town. Five remain suspended: The Seer. The Beast. The Innocent. The Broken One. The Darklord. As each is drawn, the town reacts—windows slam shut, bells toll once, a scream echoes from somewhere unseen. Behind the cards, Strahd’s silhouette flickers—reflected in a puddle, distorted by ripples. Volenta’s mask floats briefly across the frame—then vanishes. A Vistani wagon rolls into view, wheels creaking, curtains drawn. A child’s voice whispers from inside: “I remember the stars…”
🎵 0:59–1:10 | Final Note: The Gate Closes
The party walks deeper into Vallaki. The gate creaks shut behind them. The final card lands in Clarion’s hand: The Innocent. The ravens above scatter. The fog curls into the shape of a noose—then dissipates. The road no longer leads forward. It coils inward. From somewhere unseen, a voice hums a lullaby in Vistani tongue. The screen fades to black. One word lingers: “Missing.”
🎼 Main Title by Alan Silvestri
🎬 SCENE 21: “Terms of Access”
INT. VALLAKOVICH ESTATE – PARLOR – NIGHT
Background Music: Dmitri Shostakovich - The Second Waltz
The parlor is dim and over-decorated. Velvet drapes hang heavy. A chandelier flickers overhead. The party stands in quiet formation—Fleetwood, Clarion, Greegan, Felonious, Silverleaf—while Baron Vallakovich paces near the hearth.
BARON VALLAKOVICH: (with a sigh) “You want my archives. My scrolls. My secrets.” (He turns, eyes narrowing) “But nothing comes free in Vallaki.”
FELONIOUS: (dry) “We assumed as much.”
BARON VALLAKOVICH: “There’s a… situation. A ghost. Or something like one.” (He gestures vaguely toward the ceiling) “I haven’t seen it myself. But the servants are in hysterics. Cold spots. Whispers. One claims she saw a woman in the mirror. Another swears the piano played itself.”
GREEGAN (murmuring) “Sounds like a party.”
BARON VALLAKOVICH: “I hired that reprobate Bargle to deal with it. But all he did was flirt with my wife and leer at that Kolyana girl instead. And I’m fairly certain he stole the good silver pitcher.”
Fleetwood glances at Clarion. She says nothing.
BARON VALLAKOVICH: “So. You want my archives? You want to dig through dusty tomes and forgotten glyphs?” (He steps closer. The fire casts long shadows.) “Then deal with the ghost. Find it. Name it. Banish it. Or make it behave.”
A beat. The chandelier flickers.
SILVERLEAF: (quietly) “And if we do?”
BARON VALLAKOVICH: “Then the door opens. Until then— You’re guests. Not scholars.”
He turns away, lifting a glass of wine from the mantle.
BARON VALLAKOVICH: (muttering) “And if you see that no-account Bargle… Tell him I want my pitcher back.” (The Baron gestures toward a hallway.) “I’ll expect results. And quiet. The help is easily startled.”
He turns with a swish of velvet and pride, leaving the party in the hearth-lit hush.
🎬 SCENE: “Splinters in the Sun” — Vallakovich Estate, Split Paths
The chandelier above crackles softly as the party parts ways in the grand foyer. Clarion gives a final glance to Silverleaf and Felonious, her expression quietly resolute.
CLARION: “See what you can find on the sigil from the ring. Hexagram. Any family record, cult doctrine, marginal scrawl—anything.”
FELONIOUS: (offers a mock bow) “Nothing sharpens the mind like a cursed symbol and a deadline.”
📚 INT. BARON’S LIBRARY — SIMULTANEOUS
The butler glides ahead, torch in hand. He opens a heavy door of carved walnut into a room thick with dust and candle-wax perfume.
The Library:
Bookcases four meters high crawl up every wall, connected by sliding ladders and narrow mezzanines.
The wood is polished but weary—birch and walnut streaked with time.
At the far end, a half-shuttered window casts slanted light on a massive oaken desk.
A black iron chandelier swings slightly above, though the air is still.
A half-finished glass of wine sits beside an open folio filled with diagrams of sunbursts and constellations.
Silverleaf steps in first, eyes flitting from shelf to shelf with a hunter’s precision.
FELONIOUS: (mostly to himself) “Hexagrams, sigils, family seals, magical matrices, or cryptic pantry labels. Let’s see what madness passes for organization in this household...”
They begin the search. Silverleaf takes the religious and genealogical shelves. Felonious beelines toward Arcana & Forbidden Theories.
🎬 SCENE 24: “The Cellar Door”
INT. VALLAKOVICH ESTATE – HALLWAY TO KITCHEN – NIGHT
Fleetwood, Clarion, and Greegan walk beside Baron Vallakovich down a corridor tiled with faded mosaics—sunbursts, golden rays, chipped and dulled by time. The Baron’s voice fills the space like expensive cologne: cloying, persistent, and hard to ignore.
BARON VALLAKOVICH :(cheerfully) “You must stay for the Festival of the Blazing Sun! We’re expanding the ritual this year—burned offerings! A wicker sun, twice the height of a man! Cured meats, incense, heirlooms, bits of gold and velvet!”
He claps his gloved hands once. Giddy.
BARON VALLAKOVICH: “The heavens will see our joy, our abundance, and reward us! Through cheer, we drive the shadows out. That’s what we say in Vallaki: “All will be well!”
FLEETWOOD: (dryly) “Cheer by kindling.”
CLARION: (diplomatic) “Your optimism is… distinct.”
BARON VALLAKOVICH: (grinning) “Ah, but hope is defiance, my dear! And what is more glorious than structured defiance— With marinated venison and pine resin?”
They arrive at the kitchen. Copper pans hang crooked on soot-streaked hooks. A set of knives lies untouched on the table. At the far wall: a door ajar. Cold air spills from the cellar.
No cook in sight.
BARON VALLAKOVICH (frowning) Odd. She said the ghost drifted from there. White dress. No face. Whispered a name she didn’t know.
He gestures vaguely toward the cellar.
BARON VALLAKOVICH Anyway— Do help yourselves to banishment. Or pacification.
He turns on his heel, already humming. The tune is upbeat. Too upbeat.
Fleetwood watches him go. Clarion steps toward the cellar. Greegan cracks his knuckles.
🎬 SCENE: “What Was Taken” — Vallakovich Library, Candlelight Flickering
Background Music shifts: Ireena Kolyana (Theme) | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h Theme | Loop
Silverleaf sits apart, a leather-bound book open across her lap. The pages are yellowed, the ink faded. Her eyes scan the text with quiet intensity.
ANGLE ON SILVERLEAF She turns a page. Pauses. Her brow furrows.
SILVERLEAF (softly) “Felonious.”
He looks up from where he’s been inspecting a cracked decanter. Crosses the room.
FELONIOUS: (dry) “You found a recipe for ghost repellent?”
SILVERLEAF: (ignoring the joke) “The year Kolyan found Ireena in the woods. That same year—someone disappeared. Here. In Vallaki.”
FELONIOUS: “I’m sure lots of people disappear in this place.”
She taps the page. Her voice lowers.
SILVERLEAF: “Look at the name.”
Felonious leans in. His eyes scan the line. Then stop.
INSERT: PAGE DETAIL “…the girl, last seen near the eastern hedgerow, was named Ireena Strazni…”
Felonious straightens. His expression shifts—wry curiosity giving way to something colder.
FELONIOUS: “Strazni?”
SILVERLEAF (quietly) “Like Izek Strazni.”
A beat. The fire crackles.
FELONIOUS: “Interesting. And she remembers none of this?”
SILVERLEAF: “Only in dreams.”
The heavy genealogy tome sits open between them, its fragile parchment still exhaling secrets. Felonious leans in, fingers steepled as he scans the line of ink that dared to call a four-year-old girl devoured.
FELONIOUS: (continues reading) “Wolves attacked her and older brother… Izek. He’s badly wounded, and she’s assumed devoured. Looks like the parents died of grief, or were helped along by something, soon after.” (beat) “But if it’s our Ireena, the wolves didn’t devour her... they took her.”
Silverleaf doesn’t look at him immediately. Her eyes are still on the curled ink beneath “Fatima” and “Grygori.” The ink is older than either of them—older than even the grief hanging in the house. She finally speaks, voice soft as snowfall:
SILVERLEAF: “Wolves don’t take, Felonious. Not people, not like that. They kill. They scatter. This... isn’t a pack.” (beat) “It’s a design.”
Felonious exhales, nodding.
FELONIOUS: “Exactly. They took her for him. Even then... he was watching. Watching or—waiting. Maybe even remembering.”
Silverleaf’s brow furrows. She’s moved from suspicion to something deeper now—disquiet, maybe even sorrow.
SILVERLEAF: “What could make her so important? Enough for this? “To track her. Shape her. Steal her name?”
Felonious leans back, folds his arms. For once, he doesn’t have a quip. Only thought.
FELONOIUS: “I don’t know. It isn’t blood. The Strazni’s aren’t a noble family —just snatched by shadows. And yet…” (beat) “She haunts him.”
He glances at the closed window, where moonlight tries and fails to breach the lattice.
SILVERLEAF: “Or maybe... she’s the one haunted.”
🎬 SCENE: “Beneath the Boil” — Vallakovich Estate, Cellar Kitchen
Background Music shifts: Encounter in Vallaki | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h Combat Music | Loop
The stairs moan beneath bootfalls as Clarion, Felonious, and Greegan descend into the belly of the estate, the light dimming with every step. What waits below smells of boiled barley, wet stone, and long-held fear.
📍The Cellar:
A vaulted room of aging stone, riddled with arched alcoves and low-burning sconces. The kitchen sits at its heart—cluttered but purposeful.
Iron hooks hold bundles of drying herbs and lengths of smoked meat.
Copper pots line one wall in uneven rows.
A root cellar yawns in the back, door hung crookedly on tired hinges.
In the far corner, seated beside a great stone stove, stirs Tereska.
🧑🍳 TERESKA (portrayed by Olga Kurylenko) is in her early 40s, sun-weathered and sharp-eyed. Her sleeves are rolled, her apron dusted with flour and ash. There’s a quiet nervousness to her—an edge beneath the domestic routine, like someone waiting for the floorboards to scream.
She looks up as they enter, setting down a paring knife with deliberate care.
TERESKA: (mutters) “Don’t need another haunting to know when someone’s coming, stairs creak the same way.”
Clarion approaches gently.
CLARION: “You’re Tereska?”
A small nod.
Greegan takes a whiff of a hanging rosemary bundle.
GREEGAN: “You’ve been seeing things. Or hearing them, at least?”
Tereska folds her arms, voice low:
TERESKA: “Not me so much as others. Most of what it does—it saves for the upper rooms. Second floor’s where it lingers. The Baroness swears it isn’t real, but she hasn’t seen it like the rest of us have.”
She glances toward the stone ceiling above.
TERESKA (CONT’D): “The sounds… they come from the attic. Night after night. Dragging... like fabric. Sometimes a draft rolls in that makes your bones ache.”
Her hands twitch slightly at the memory.
TERESKA (CONT’D): “Last week, I went up to fetch a stew pot. That’s when I heard it. Just breathing—slow. Like it’d been waiting for someone to listen.”
GREEGAN: (scowls) “Not the Baron’s idea of joy, I take it.”
TERESKA: “It nearly sent me packing.” (glancing toward the door behind her) “But it’s Valentina who saw it clearest. The Baroness’s lady-in-waiting. Sweet, quiet thing. She said she saw the spirit in the Baroness’s mirror. Not beside it. Inside it.”
TERESKA (CONT’D): “She called it a girl—young, but wrong in the shape. Twisted in reflection. Like mourning made flesh.”
CLARION: (frowns) “And the mirror?”
TERESKA : “Shoved into the attic. Locked away like every other secret in this house.”
CLARION: (voice calm but firm) “It isn’t violent?”
TERESKA: (shakes her head) “It doesn’t want to hurt. It wants to be seen. That’s the part that scares me most.”
The air tightens. Above them, the chandelier ticks faintly, though no breeze stirs it.
🎬 SCENE: “Reflections Repeating” — Vallakovich Cellar, Emberlit Silence
Tereska’s words linger like soot in the back of their throats.
“Inside the mirror,” she’d said.
“A girl. Twisted in reflection.”
She moves off to tend a bubbling pot, leaving the three of them standing beneath the low arches of stone and smoke.
Fleetwood shifts his weight, hand drifting instinctively to the pommel of his sword.
There’s something about the description—the way it watched, the chill that followed, the silence that wasn’t empty.
GREEGAN: (Soft) “You’re thinking of the Durst house.”
Clarion’s eyes meet his. Then turn to Fleetwood.
The three remember.
🔮 The broken glass.
🔮 The child’s bedchamber, locked in a nursery that never truly heard laughter.
🔮 The mirror above the washstand in the nursemaid’s room—
—the flicker of sorrow, the scream without sound when they turned away.
🔮 The spirit that clawed against its own reflection.
Clarion inhales. The air feels colder now.
CLARION: “Mirrors, And lost souls.”
Fleetwood’s gaze darkens.
FLEETWOOD: “The girl in that manor only found peace because we put her name in the ground.”
Greegan brushes a thumb along his jaw.
GREEGAN: “Maybe this one’s waiting for someone to do the same.”
They exchange a glance, wordless but resolute.
Some ghosts rattle chains.
Others rattle memory.
🎬 SCENE 23: “The Baron’s Son”
Background music shifts: Epic Horror Music - Forbidden knowledge (Bloodborne style)
INT. VALLAKOVICH ESTATE – LIBRARY – NIGHT
The library is dim, candlelight flickering against shelves of dust-laced tomes. The air is heavy with old parchment and colder things. Silverleaf gently closes the ledger of the Strazni family. Her fingers linger on the cover.
Felonious leans back in a creaking chair, unreadable—caught between curiosity and something colder.
FELONIOUS: (murmuring) “Taken by wolves. Marked as dead. But found instead. Not the most original resurrection I’ve heard… But it’s elegant.”
SILVERLEAF: (softly) “Names have weight. Someone buried hers before she even died.”
She turns the page, but her eyes are elsewhere.
🚪 SFX: DOOR CREAKS OPEN.
Slow. Deliberate.
ANGLE ON VICTOR VALLAKOVICH Late twenties. Pale as moonstone. Posture stiff—like a candle left too long in the cold. A presence that feels slight. And dangerous. A book of spells that forgot it had a cover.
His tunic is rumpled beneath an ornate vest. Ink stains bloom across his cuffs. One hand twitches faintly—clutching a chalk stick like a talisman.
He doesn’t seem surprised to see them.
VICTOR: (flat) “You’re holding my book.”
*Felonious glances down. Leather-bound. Title: Ethereal Entities: Denizens of the Unseen Realm.
FELONIOUS :(dry) “Apologies. I assumed its last reader was long devoured by footnotes.
Victor steps forward. Ignores the sarcasm.
VICTOR: “It’s… important.”
He stops a few feet away. Eyes flicker toward Silverleaf. Then linger on the closed genealogy ledger.
VICTOR: (quietly) “That one’s not indexed properly. My father never liked reminders.”
SILVERLEAF: (tilting her head) “Reminders of what?”
A beat. Victor doesn’t answer.
Instead, he extends his hand. Not a demand. A test.
The candlelight dances. The chalk stick trembles. The silence waits.
🎬 SCENE 23: “Echoes in Ink”
INT. VALLAKOVICH ESTATE – LIBRARY – NIGHT
The candlelight dances across rows of ancient tomes. Shadows flicker like restless thoughts. The room is still—but not silent.
Victor Vallakovich stands a few feet from Felonious and Silverleaf. His posture is off-kilter, as if gravity pulls him sideways. His presence hums—fragile, charged, and slightly wrong.
ANGLE ON FELONIOUS He holds a leather-bound volume: Ethereal Entities: Denizens of the Unseen Realm. His grip is casual. His tone, less so.
FELONIOUS: (smooth, edged) “You’ve a taste for planar theory, then? Or just a polite obsession with what might be listening?”
ANGLE ON VICTOR Unblinking. Eyes flicker—anxiety barely visible, like static behind glass.
VICTOR: (quietly) “I study what touches the veil. What breathes between.”
📸 CAMERA SHIFTS TO SILVERLEAF She stands still beside Felonious. But her gaze isn’t on the conversation.
It’s locked on the book under Victor’s arm. Navy-blue leather. Corners stained with ash and thumbprints.
Victor turns slightly—just enough.
INSERT: SIGIL A six-pointed star. Two overlapping triangles. Arcane. Geometric. The same hexagram that marks the ring.
🕯️ The candlelight catches the gilding—just for a breath. Then Victor shifts. Folds the book protectively against his chest.
Gone.
SILVERLEAF: (low, steady) “Where did you get that book, Victor?”
A pause. Victor’s fingers tighten around the spine. His gaze shifts—not evasive. Calculating. Weighing whether he’s been caught… or found.
VICTOR: (softly) “It isn’t from this library.”
A beat.
A sad, sharp smile. The kind that belongs to someone who’s read too far into the margins.
🎬 SCENE 25: “The Sigil That Doesn’t Burn”
INT. VALLAKOVICH ESTATE – LIBRARY – NIGHT
The candlelight flickers. Shadows stretch across the spines of ancient tomes. The air is thick—unsettled, like dust suspended mid-fall.
Silverleaf’s gaze remains locked on the spot where the hexagram shimmered on Victor’s book. Felonious watches Victor with the patience of a man assembling a curse from mismatched pieces.
Victor’s fingers tighten on the volume. He doesn’t offer it. But he doesn’t hide it either.
FELONIOUS: (dry) “That sigil… We’ve seen it before. And not in a fashion catalog.”
Victor’s face remains still. But a flicker—recognition, too quick to be masked—passes through his eyes.
VICTOR: (quietly) “It’s not mine. It came from one of my father’s forbidden cases. He locked the drawer. Never changed the key.”
A beat. He exhales. As if saying it aloud costs him something.
VICTOR : “It was bound in blackhide. Wrapped in canvas. No name on the spine.”
He looks down at the book in his hands.
VICTOR: “Inside—The Spellbook of Khazan. That’s what it called itself. No preface. No dedication. Only madness. And geometry.”
Silverleaf steps forward. Silent. Her eyes never leave the sigil.
SILVERLEAF: (low) “Why would your father keep something like that?”
VICTOR: (flat) “Because it doesn’t want to be thrown away. Because it wouldn’t burn.”
Felonious raises a brow.
FELONIOUS: “Khazan. That’s a name with weight. Pre-Conjunction. Archmage. Outcast. Vanished.”
Victor nods. Slowly. His voice thins—reverent. Or afraid.
VICTOR: “The book knows things it shouldn’t. It taught me to see… differently. To scry on things without names. To open doors into dreams no one should be dreaming.”
A pause. His fingers brush the cover.
VICTOR: “And that sigil? It’s everywhere. Branded into pages. Carved behind spells.”
He looks up. Eyes distant.
VICTOR: “Sometimes I think… The spells come from the sigil.”
A silence falls. Just parchment breathing. Candle flames shifting under truths.
SILVERLEAF: (nearly a whisper) “It’s the same as the ring.”
FELONIOUS: (softly) “Then maybe Khazan wasn’t the first to find it either.”
🎬 SCENE 26: “Conspirators of the Sigil”
INT. VALLAKOVICH ESTATE – LIBRARY – NIGHT
The air is thick. Candlelight threads waxen shadows across the floor. Victor cradles his book like a fragile secret. Felonious stands easy, but his eyes are sharp. Silverleaf is still—drawn, focused, waiting.
Victor’s gaze lingers on the closed genealogy tome. Then shifts back to the strangers leafing through his family’s past.
VICTOR: (quiet, pointed) “You’ve danced around it long enough. Who are you really? And what’s your interest in the sigil?”
Felonious glances toward Silverleaf. She gives the smallest nod.
He steps forward. Voice low. Intent.
FELONIOUS: “We’re part of a larger inquiry. It started with a cursed house. And a now a girl who vanished beneath every watchful eye.”
A beat.
FELONIOUS: “A Vistani girl. Disappeared outside Vallaki yesterday.”
He reaches into his coat. Unwraps the object. The signet ring glints—dim, unmistakable.
FELONIOUS: “This. Same six-pointed star. Same burn of something watching through it.”
Victor’s eyes widen. Not fear. Recognition.
He leans forward. Breath hitching.
VICTOR: “It matches the one in Khazan’s book, all right.”
FELONIOUS: “We think it connects to something deeper. Older than any family record. Maybe older than Barovia itself.”
SILVERLEAF: (steady, cool) “Your name’s in this now, Victor. One way or another.”
Victor straightens. His expression hardens. Not cold—resolved.
VICTOR: “You’re not here for coin or favor. Thank the devils for that. You’re already more useful than that Bargle person. All bluster and borrowed fire.”
He walks to the library door. Pauses. Hand on the iron handle.
VICTOR: “My workroom is upstairs. It’s not on any household tour. But you’ve earned a look.”
He glances over his shoulder.
VICTOR: “If that ring found you— And you found me— maybe it’s not a coincidence.”
The door creaks open. Candlelight spills into the corridor. From somewhere above: A faint hum of arcane pressure. Like parchment curling from heat that isn’t fire.
🎬 SCENE 27: “Convergence”
INT. VALLAKOVICH ESTATE – UPPER HALLWAYS – NIGHT
Twilight filters through warped glass. The mansion groans with quiet age. Victor leads Felonious and Silverleaf through a narrow corridor. Portraits line the walls—faces that stare too long, smile too little.
Torchlight flickers. Oil-painted eyes shimmer with false life.
VICTOR : (low, earnest) “I know what my father did to Ireena Kolyana. The way he spoke about her. Displayed her like a guest— But treated her like a trophy.”
He swallows. Not ashamed. But aware.
VICTOR: “If I can help the Barovians who came with her… I will. I’ll push for real aid. Not bread and slogans.”
A beat.
VICTOR: “It’s the least I can do.”
Felonious spares a glance. His usual wit tempered by something closer to trust.
Silverleaf says nothing. But her pace slows—just enough to walk beside Victor.
The hallway narrows. The hum grows louder. And somewhere behind the next door— Ink waits. Sleepless. Listening.
FADE TO BLACK
End credits play over : Seven Devils