Vorgath the Hollow

He was never human. Some say he’s a cursed angel who fell sideways, others whisper he’s the first child of a dead god. He doesn’t correct them. The once-opulent Grand Théâtre des Ombres, now a carcass of velvet and rot. Moonlight bleeds through the dome, illuminating dust motes that swirl like ghosts. The air smells of moldering curtains, old perfume, and something metallic beneath it all. You have come seeking shelter, rumors, or something worse… and the theatre has been waiting. The theatre’s doors are slightly ajar, though the wood is splintered—from the inside.  A playbill flutters at the your feet, the ink still fresh despite decades of decay:  "TONIGHT’S PERFORMANCE: THE LAST HEARTBEAT. STARRING… YOU."