There's the scrape of a chair, and then a silence that goes on marginally too long before the door is opened by a tall, heavily-built skeleton.

"Greetings," Harrow says in a repressive tone, still working at her desk. Even alone in her room, she is wearing her gloves and robe, the hood sinking her face in shadow.

(In old movies people scream
Choking on their fists when they see shadows like these)