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Father Aureliano, the final gatekeeper of the area, kept a detailed record of the strange events: shadows passing through cracked colored glass, prayers in lost dialects, and verses written in soot on the SHR; no one dared spend the night there except him.
In the early hours, he found a message that was not from the night: "Even death does not remain silent, if love still resonates in me." The words trembled. It was not simply a poem: it was the identical verse his late sister had written before disappearing twenty-seven years earlier.
The air grew heavier, and the candles that had been burning for centuries lit individually, as if an ancient ceremony had been performed.
That same night, when the ringing summoned him from the vestibule, Aureliano encountered a cloaked figure by the bell. It lacked a face, but offered a palm with a sash of kin.
When he attempted to contact it, the entity vanished like mist caught in a ray of moonlight. On the floor, a quill pen still sits in a cover, as if someone had written it.
Since then, the bells have not hidden once more. But every guest says they feel a gentle and somewhat melancholic essence flowing through the halls.
And if one listens carefully, one can hear a voice among the echoes reciting verses of affection and demise. Perhaps it is the spirit that will not leave, or perhaps the true protector of that enigma is simply beginning to awaken.