A RESIDENT EVIL FANMIX
Oil burns in chandeliers overhead, bathing the rooms in amber.
Illuminating the carefully crafted webs between the legs of chairs.
Grey film covers everything, caught between the folds of ornate curtains bunched around windows.
No mirror-polished silverware here.
No heady wine resting in ice buckets there.
The days of silk-clad women dancing in the halls and of men boasting of game bagged on the last hunt is long gone.
Ghost walk the halls, skeletons lay beneath the earth and the dead are climbing from their caskets.

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