Tradition is the spectral embodiment of the manor's ancient customs and strict social codes, an eerie presence that keeps the manor locked in an eternal past, seeping through its rotting walls and dusty portraits, refusing to let the mansion's dark secrets fade into oblivity.
In halls where ghostly footfalls echo, I dwell,
Heirloom of time, in whispered secrets I tell.
Through generations, in shadows cast, can you see?
Am I not the phantom called Tradition, haunting thee?