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As dawn approaches the storm taking hold outside the house intensifies, rain battering the windows and the roof of the greenhouse -- wind howling down chimneys and around the buildings. The house is gripped by the damp, cold influence of the weather as rumbles of thunder vibrate through the walls and the house-guests brace themselves. Curling up as best they can for warmth, as one they fall under the spell of sleep once more.
The Phantasms return as the sleepers are caught within their dreams, carrying unconscious experiment victims down into the Basement. They are laid out there as before, left to their own devices. No indication is made of their return, and it is up to them to make their way back to their friends once they wake. Among the experiment victims are Gabriel and Rachel, who have also been returned to their friends once more.
As the house-guests drift in their slumber the sound of music quickly overwhelms the chimes. At first all that can be heard is a single violin as someone plays the opening cords of a song. The player remains unseen, as though the dreamer's eyes remain closed to listen to the song. It's familiar, and soothing to the musicians in the house after the discordant melody of the night. It is the same song that some found themselves humming, the same song that danced through the house like a virus. When the eyes finally open, blinking and cautious, the house-guests will see that the beautiful song is played by an equally beautiful woman with dark skin. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is slightly parted as the bow dances over the strings, truly lost in the moment of the song she plays. She does not open her eyes, nor does she seem to be aware that she is being watched at all.
By the time the dreamer finally moves, the house-guests are completely immersed. There is little alien about the person who they see through, and it seems to feel completely natural as their hands dance upon the piano keys, joining her song with the shivering ivory notes. They play together for what seems like a small eternity, the music dragging the guests deeper into the dream, offering them little chance to resist the song.
The woman seems to freeze as the last notes of the song die away, lips curled in a warm smile. "That was lovely, my friend. I can't wait until you find the words."
The dream falls apart as the piano player begins to laugh, shattering into bright fragments of pleasure and the pure joy that comes from creating something beautiful. The slight coolness of the stage they occupied is left behind for the warmth of sunlight as another scene unfolds around them.
The darker laughter is left behind for the soft mirth of a man sat at the base of an apple tree.
He's surrounded by recently picked fruit and a few rest on his stomach, as though the pair have just paused while gathering them. As he cuts slices from the one in his grasp his accomplice leans forward to lift them off the knife, seeming to trust it's wielder implicitly.
Their shared merriment fills the dream, though no words are spoken, and the atmosphere is intimate -- filled with a mutual understanding that doesn't need to be vocalised.
The last slice is lifted to his companions lips, and the dreamers are struck by an overwhelming sense of utter contentment as the smiling man takes the apple slice and the other leans to kiss him.
"Mhm, you were right, apples were a good idea."
The dreamer laughs, low and relaxed as the scene fades into fragments again, leaving the two men to their lazy summer afternoon.
At first, the sensation is almost like waking -- as if the sleeper has stirred from slumber, but soon it becomes clear that the guests have no control over their actions, have not actually awoken. The morning chimes mark the air, the donging of the clock announcing the time in a steady, rhythmic pace.
Just as soon as the sound ebbs, the sleepy confusion fades, and the scenery swims into focus, the sensation is traded for an almost panicked realisation -- a desperate need that fills the dreamer's chest as he climbs to his feet. Everything is consumed by the urgent need to move, to go elsewhere -- to run not away from something, but to it. Even his things are left behind in his haste as he rushes out of the door and down the hallway, bolting with fervour into the Floating Hallway.
He is running for several long minutes, ignoring his heart pounding in his chest, before he is met by a woman. He barely has time to react to her presence, nor even slow his pace, before the smaller figure has thrown herself at him, leaping up into his arms and burying her face into his neck.
Relief and recognition fill the dreamer's chest, and several long instants pass before either form moves. Their hearts hammer in their chests, the discordant beats filling the man with contentment. They seem to be relishing in one another's company before the woman breaks away just enough to speak.
"Don't let go of me, or I swear I will kneecap you with the nearest blunt object."
The dreamer begins to erupt into laughter, before he is cut off, as the sweet embrace is traded for the tenderest of kisses.
The moment is full of passion and longing, an instant of the golden light of dawn flooding the hallway before eyes close and the dreamer is lost.
The aching, pining feeling begins to fade with the dream.
The floating hallway is unlocked once more, despite the storm, however something has changed. It seems longer, now closer to a mile if one was to measure -- and a new door has appeared halfway. It seems the construction that has been heard throughout the house has been having an effect. Walking along the floating hallway today gives you a good view of the thick storm-clouds, lightning flashing in the distance as they gather. It seems although the weather is heavy, and the tempestuous air currents disconcerting as you make your way through the glass walkway, the eye of the storm is not yet over the house. Perhaps the worst is yet to come.
The construction in question has yet to end, becoming louder if anything, and it continues throughout the day -- ceaseless, relentless in its progress.
The door in the rough kitchen is receiving a particularly rough battering, as if huge gusts of wind are continually slamming into it and making it strain at its hinges. As the storm progresses, it slams and clicks from the gale forces outside -- but still stays firmly closed. It seems about to give every so often, but never quite does.
In the last instants before dawn arrives, the sound of construction is heard especially loudly behind the door to the Closet Room. To anyone unfortunate enough to be within the enclosed spaces, a sensation of claustrophobia sets in and the noise becomes almost deafening. If the tenant has not escaped by the time sleep sets in, they will find themselves in the hallway upon waking, as it has become impossible to remain in the cupboards; once again, they have disappeared and been replaced by the Planetarium.
As the light of day reaches the Sewing Room the dolls still then... Vanish from it. No trace of their work is left behind, and everything in the room seems as it was before -- as if they were never there. Anyone who goes looking will find that the dolls are sat in the bathroom, as lifeless as they always were. No mannequin, statue or fae figure is out of place -- in fact the Fairy Bedroom is neatly tidied. The bed is made, and everything is back in its natural place as if it had never been touched. The only thing missing seems to be the larger of the dolls from the Doll Bathroom. She is not on the shelf with the others, but an intrepid guest will find her sat at one of the tables in the Dawn Room. A pot of tea and a cup has been set out for her, and in her lap sits the small porcelain frog. It seems as if she is waiting to be joined by someone, or something.
The Rose Garden is now empty, should anyone chance the wind and rain to see it. Fog seems to be pressing closer to the bars, muffling the sound of the rain. The rose bushes in the garden seem to be coming back to life.
Nicolas and the baby rescued from the Backstage both start to cry as the bells announcing daybreak begin to sound. They will not be quieted, but seem to take some comfort from being picked up by their guardians. The baby from the Backstage remains fussy when anyone but his rescuers handle him, but there are no monsters to be disturbed by his cries during the daytime.
As the guests begin to gather themselves, and the experiment victims find their way back into the house, some may find that Notes have been left, scattered around both houses.
Location: In a basket in the Tapestry Bedroom.
A ragged torn page, seemingly from some sort of journal. The handwriting is a rough, almost manic scrawl, and in several places it's obvious that the author was bearing down on their pen hard enough to leave small tears in the paper:
"They're coming from somewhere. They have to. They must. There's no other explanation.
All of these odds and ends weren't here before. They came out of nowhere. All of these notes, all of these goddamned keys..... Someone is putting them here, aren't they? Someone is planting them. They want us to find them. They want us to search and speculate. But why? What does it all mean? Who are they, and what do they want from us? Why are we even here at all?
A pattern. There's always a pattern. Nothing happens without a reason. I have to find it. I will find the key. The key to everything. I'll figure it out, and once I do....."
Location: On top of a stack of photographic paper in the Dark Room.
"Sometimes, I think this house is nothing but doors. Nothing but doors, and every single one of them that's important is locked. I think I'm going to suffocate here, if we can't open something soon. It's harder and harder to breathe every night. I found the key when I was trying to break the window--but it doesn't look like any of the doors I've seen yet. Where does it go? Why can't I find the door, if I can find the key? What am I supposed to do?
Is this a house, or a maze?"
Location: Tucked inside some blankets in the Store Room.
"This house is fucking fantastic. I can hack it here, I'm no stranger to fighting the good fight. I know the streets, and I'm learning these halls--and nobody is going to keep me down for long. None of the monsters, and none of the others. Why? Because there are keys--everywhere you look, you can find them. In drawers and under beds and behind mirrors; It's like a goddamned magpie's paradise. I've got thirteen so far--there are probably more. I don't know how many. It doesn't really matter, does it?
What matters is that they're mine. They're mine, and so are the doors they belong to, and all the territory between them. If anybody wants to go places, they'll have to come to me, first.
Life isn't fair, and the real world almost never opens any door to opportunity; once it's locked, it's locked, and there's no help for it. But here? Here, you can get somewhere. Here, there's opportunity, everywhere you look. Thirteen damned keys, and probably ten times as many doors--this place is finally going to turn my luck around, I just know it. I'll finally be able to go places. I'll be free. Let those snot-nosed brats cry all they want, they don't know what they're missing. All of this power, right here in my hands..... Where should I go first?" Found with this note is a key.
Location: Under the bread board in the Rough Kitchen.
"Why isn't it working?! They match. I know they match, I've compared the patterns. They're the same metal. It's even the right fit! This is the one. It can't possibly be any other. It goes in, it even turns, but the door--it's still not opening. It's like I haven't even touched it. There's just--nothing. Nothing at all! This is all pointless! What kind of place is this, where even locks and keys don't work the way they're supposed to?"
Location: Stuffed in the Vase in the Entry Way.
"Keys are not the only things that open doors here. I don't understand. A door is a door, isn’t it? That means a key should be a key. Keys open doors. I mean, unless you're kicking the door open. But these doors open for no reason. It's like there's some unholy keymaster running around with a ring of keys that open all our nightmares up. Doors are doors, doors need keys to be opened. But what keeps opening things here?"
Mod Note: If you wish for your character to find one of the notes, please comment here!
The Phantasms return as the sleepers are caught within their dreams, carrying unconscious experiment victims down into the Basement. They are laid out there as before, left to their own devices. No indication is made of their return, and it is up to them to make their way back to their friends once they wake. Among the experiment victims are Gabriel and Rachel, who have also been returned to their friends once more.
As the house-guests drift in their slumber the sound of music quickly overwhelms the chimes. At first all that can be heard is a single violin as someone plays the opening cords of a song. The player remains unseen, as though the dreamer's eyes remain closed to listen to the song. It's familiar, and soothing to the musicians in the house after the discordant melody of the night. It is the same song that some found themselves humming, the same song that danced through the house like a virus. When the eyes finally open, blinking and cautious, the house-guests will see that the beautiful song is played by an equally beautiful woman with dark skin. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is slightly parted as the bow dances over the strings, truly lost in the moment of the song she plays. She does not open her eyes, nor does she seem to be aware that she is being watched at all.
By the time the dreamer finally moves, the house-guests are completely immersed. There is little alien about the person who they see through, and it seems to feel completely natural as their hands dance upon the piano keys, joining her song with the shivering ivory notes. They play together for what seems like a small eternity, the music dragging the guests deeper into the dream, offering them little chance to resist the song.
The woman seems to freeze as the last notes of the song die away, lips curled in a warm smile. "That was lovely, my friend. I can't wait until you find the words."
The dream falls apart as the piano player begins to laugh, shattering into bright fragments of pleasure and the pure joy that comes from creating something beautiful. The slight coolness of the stage they occupied is left behind for the warmth of sunlight as another scene unfolds around them.
The darker laughter is left behind for the soft mirth of a man sat at the base of an apple tree.
He's surrounded by recently picked fruit and a few rest on his stomach, as though the pair have just paused while gathering them. As he cuts slices from the one in his grasp his accomplice leans forward to lift them off the knife, seeming to trust it's wielder implicitly.
Their shared merriment fills the dream, though no words are spoken, and the atmosphere is intimate -- filled with a mutual understanding that doesn't need to be vocalised.
The last slice is lifted to his companions lips, and the dreamers are struck by an overwhelming sense of utter contentment as the smiling man takes the apple slice and the other leans to kiss him.
"Mhm, you were right, apples were a good idea."
The dreamer laughs, low and relaxed as the scene fades into fragments again, leaving the two men to their lazy summer afternoon.
At first, the sensation is almost like waking -- as if the sleeper has stirred from slumber, but soon it becomes clear that the guests have no control over their actions, have not actually awoken. The morning chimes mark the air, the donging of the clock announcing the time in a steady, rhythmic pace.
Just as soon as the sound ebbs, the sleepy confusion fades, and the scenery swims into focus, the sensation is traded for an almost panicked realisation -- a desperate need that fills the dreamer's chest as he climbs to his feet. Everything is consumed by the urgent need to move, to go elsewhere -- to run not away from something, but to it. Even his things are left behind in his haste as he rushes out of the door and down the hallway, bolting with fervour into the Floating Hallway.
He is running for several long minutes, ignoring his heart pounding in his chest, before he is met by a woman. He barely has time to react to her presence, nor even slow his pace, before the smaller figure has thrown herself at him, leaping up into his arms and burying her face into his neck.
Relief and recognition fill the dreamer's chest, and several long instants pass before either form moves. Their hearts hammer in their chests, the discordant beats filling the man with contentment. They seem to be relishing in one another's company before the woman breaks away just enough to speak.
"Don't let go of me, or I swear I will kneecap you with the nearest blunt object."
The dreamer begins to erupt into laughter, before he is cut off, as the sweet embrace is traded for the tenderest of kisses.
The moment is full of passion and longing, an instant of the golden light of dawn flooding the hallway before eyes close and the dreamer is lost.
The aching, pining feeling begins to fade with the dream.
The floating hallway is unlocked once more, despite the storm, however something has changed. It seems longer, now closer to a mile if one was to measure -- and a new door has appeared halfway. It seems the construction that has been heard throughout the house has been having an effect. Walking along the floating hallway today gives you a good view of the thick storm-clouds, lightning flashing in the distance as they gather. It seems although the weather is heavy, and the tempestuous air currents disconcerting as you make your way through the glass walkway, the eye of the storm is not yet over the house. Perhaps the worst is yet to come.
The construction in question has yet to end, becoming louder if anything, and it continues throughout the day -- ceaseless, relentless in its progress.
The door in the rough kitchen is receiving a particularly rough battering, as if huge gusts of wind are continually slamming into it and making it strain at its hinges. As the storm progresses, it slams and clicks from the gale forces outside -- but still stays firmly closed. It seems about to give every so often, but never quite does.
In the last instants before dawn arrives, the sound of construction is heard especially loudly behind the door to the Closet Room. To anyone unfortunate enough to be within the enclosed spaces, a sensation of claustrophobia sets in and the noise becomes almost deafening. If the tenant has not escaped by the time sleep sets in, they will find themselves in the hallway upon waking, as it has become impossible to remain in the cupboards; once again, they have disappeared and been replaced by the Planetarium.
As the light of day reaches the Sewing Room the dolls still then... Vanish from it. No trace of their work is left behind, and everything in the room seems as it was before -- as if they were never there. Anyone who goes looking will find that the dolls are sat in the bathroom, as lifeless as they always were. No mannequin, statue or fae figure is out of place -- in fact the Fairy Bedroom is neatly tidied. The bed is made, and everything is back in its natural place as if it had never been touched. The only thing missing seems to be the larger of the dolls from the Doll Bathroom. She is not on the shelf with the others, but an intrepid guest will find her sat at one of the tables in the Dawn Room. A pot of tea and a cup has been set out for her, and in her lap sits the small porcelain frog. It seems as if she is waiting to be joined by someone, or something.
The Rose Garden is now empty, should anyone chance the wind and rain to see it. Fog seems to be pressing closer to the bars, muffling the sound of the rain. The rose bushes in the garden seem to be coming back to life.
Nicolas and the baby rescued from the Backstage both start to cry as the bells announcing daybreak begin to sound. They will not be quieted, but seem to take some comfort from being picked up by their guardians. The baby from the Backstage remains fussy when anyone but his rescuers handle him, but there are no monsters to be disturbed by his cries during the daytime.
As the guests begin to gather themselves, and the experiment victims find their way back into the house, some may find that Notes have been left, scattered around both houses.
Location: In a basket in the Tapestry Bedroom.
A ragged torn page, seemingly from some sort of journal. The handwriting is a rough, almost manic scrawl, and in several places it's obvious that the author was bearing down on their pen hard enough to leave small tears in the paper:
"They're coming from somewhere. They have to. They must. There's no other explanation.
All of these odds and ends weren't here before. They came out of nowhere. All of these notes, all of these goddamned keys..... Someone is putting them here, aren't they? Someone is planting them. They want us to find them. They want us to search and speculate. But why? What does it all mean? Who are they, and what do they want from us? Why are we even here at all?
A pattern. There's always a pattern. Nothing happens without a reason. I have to find it. I will find the key. The key to everything. I'll figure it out, and once I do....."
Location: On top of a stack of photographic paper in the Dark Room.
"Sometimes, I think this house is nothing but doors. Nothing but doors, and every single one of them that's important is locked. I think I'm going to suffocate here, if we can't open something soon. It's harder and harder to breathe every night. I found the key when I was trying to break the window--but it doesn't look like any of the doors I've seen yet. Where does it go? Why can't I find the door, if I can find the key? What am I supposed to do?
Is this a house, or a maze?"
Location: Tucked inside some blankets in the Store Room.
"This house is fucking fantastic. I can hack it here, I'm no stranger to fighting the good fight. I know the streets, and I'm learning these halls--and nobody is going to keep me down for long. None of the monsters, and none of the others. Why? Because there are keys--everywhere you look, you can find them. In drawers and under beds and behind mirrors; It's like a goddamned magpie's paradise. I've got thirteen so far--there are probably more. I don't know how many. It doesn't really matter, does it?
What matters is that they're mine. They're mine, and so are the doors they belong to, and all the territory between them. If anybody wants to go places, they'll have to come to me, first.
Life isn't fair, and the real world almost never opens any door to opportunity; once it's locked, it's locked, and there's no help for it. But here? Here, you can get somewhere. Here, there's opportunity, everywhere you look. Thirteen damned keys, and probably ten times as many doors--this place is finally going to turn my luck around, I just know it. I'll finally be able to go places. I'll be free. Let those snot-nosed brats cry all they want, they don't know what they're missing. All of this power, right here in my hands..... Where should I go first?" Found with this note is a key.
Location: Under the bread board in the Rough Kitchen.
"Why isn't it working?! They match. I know they match, I've compared the patterns. They're the same metal. It's even the right fit! This is the one. It can't possibly be any other. It goes in, it even turns, but the door--it's still not opening. It's like I haven't even touched it. There's just--nothing. Nothing at all! This is all pointless! What kind of place is this, where even locks and keys don't work the way they're supposed to?"
Location: Stuffed in the Vase in the Entry Way.
"Keys are not the only things that open doors here. I don't understand. A door is a door, isn’t it? That means a key should be a key. Keys open doors. I mean, unless you're kicking the door open. But these doors open for no reason. It's like there's some unholy keymaster running around with a ring of keys that open all our nightmares up. Doors are doors, doors need keys to be opened. But what keeps opening things here?"
Mod Note: If you wish for your character to find one of the notes, please comment here!
