At eleven-thirty at night, the tall, thin figure was like a stick walking slowly in the dark night. The sound of his feet stepping on the grass and leaves rustling, he kept walking like that, the stench emanating strongly, any creature that saw him walking by would cower and run quickly into his cave.

He walked with an unusually calm, and then gradually appeared in front of him an ancient castle, cold in the night, the corner of his mouth slightly raised and then went inside.

"Sir, you're home."

The old woman crouched behind the door, he didn't bother to give her a look.

"Are you hungry, sir?"

The old woman's voice rang out, timidly. He didn't answer, just plopped himself into the armchair, his malicious eyes staring into the flames that were burning in front of him. The old woman remained silent, after a while he spoke:

"Give me the same. The meat must be made pale, otherwise the more raw the better."

He accented the last words, the haunting cold tones. The old woman shivered slightly, replied "Yes, Master" and hurried into the kitchen.

"Griffin."

A voice spoke, deep and low. Griffin didn't respond, his gaze still fixed on the fire.

"Yes, Father?"

After a while he replied.

"You're late tonight."

His father stood on the stairs, coldly said.

"I have some work to do."

"A bargain hunt?"

This time it was the corner of his father's mouth that curled up, maliciously.

"Not necessarily."

Griffin said absentmindedly.

"So what is it?"

His father was starting to get impatient, his hands were shaking, his red wine glass was about to break.

[...]

"This dish can be said to be extremely special, a piece of fresh bait, live and above all still young, still beating."

Griffin laughed, a monstrous smile.

"Is someone new here?"

His father also laughed.

"Come? I think it's okay to get lost."

"Who is that?"

"Two girls. Oh no, one of them is two or three years old but the other one, he smiles wickedly, his eyes shining with lust, "is the bait I'm talking about, young, beautiful, pink trenches, still beats."

He let loose the three words "with a beat" like a child dropping a balloon, and he slowly leaned back in the armchair, eyes half-closed.

"Where are they?"

His father asked.

"Key."

With a single word, his father fell silent, and in the silence of the night he could be sure that he let out a small curse, trying to hold it back but still heard it clearly. Griffin smiled scornfully, his father coldly:

"What are you laughing at?"

"Key. Key. Key. The Key brothers. Famous for their kindness, handsomeness. Are you angry?"

"Is there a plan?"

"Why are you asking me? I thought it was you who plotted all this time."

"I think, that old face is slowly turning evil," maybe it's time for my son to show his talent. Bring that luscious bait here and you and I will skin it together."

"Sir, here is your food."

The old woman slowly picked it up, she had heard most of the conversation, she tried to stay calm until she returned to the kitchen. When she returned to the kitchen, listening to the terrible plot of the father and son of that family, an old woman had to cover her mouth with her hand so as not to make a sound.

The cry expressed disgust and fear at that horrible murder plot.