Moving hastily past Cerberus,
we descend beneath the invisible line of this musty odor. . . and begin to wonder what else we can't see in the darkness beyond the torch
Here we truly find antiques, the bones and dust and decay of centuries, of forgotten terrors in the bowels of "civilized" minds
We must ask ourselves, are we prisoners of death, or of life, if life can create such horrors?
Are your fears mirrored by the executioner,|
who stares at you silently from behind his cold metal mask?
You cannot see his eyes.
He can see yours in the light of the torch.
The Great Hall
Our Family Tree