Begins with very eery music even before first shot

The wax symbol the same as the symbol on the carrige

POV of the horseman kiling the first person

Drip, drip, drip. The wax oozes over the old parchment with its deep red stain. As the hot flame melts more, she holds my hand. The Van Garret stamp seals my words until it shall be broken. The hands that I command, look more weathered than the leather bag I place my parchment in. Finally, I come to rest. I must begin my journey.

My lungs filled with smog once leaving the carriage. The spindly trees loomed over the town with a haunting presence. Entering the gates my bags began to feel heavy.