Kane's POV.
With Hansel by my side I take slow steps into the basement where the dungeons lie, as usual I'm assulted by the smell of piss, blood and probably a rotting corpse, but after years of breathing in such a rancid mix of scents I was more than used to it.
Hansel on the other hand, is not. And while on a good day he's an immovable statue showcasing a limited supply of emotions, he genuinely cringes back at the foul scent.
I snicker and he glares at me.
The walk into the cell room is a short one, marked by a chilling silence that was occasionally disrupted by the sound of Handel's keys swinging at his side. The dungeons are dark save for the occasional dying torch hanging on the blood stained walls.
When I was younger, my father told me stories of the thing that happened in thes
