Day 039

[allthekeys]

|| Day 039: GENERAL The clocks begin their slow chime of the dawn hours, but the noise seems dragged out and lonely in the dark. The sun does not begin to rise on its cue, the moon still visible in the sky and blotting out the light of the sun when it finally does begin its slow ascent. An oppressive feeling of loneliness settles on the shoulders of the guests for the duration of the clock’s chiming. The Glass Dogs begin to howl, low and mournful as if lamenting the missing sunlight. Even the little boy Tyler joins them in their cries, though his mostly-human throat is not made for the howling; the noise clawing its way out of him resembles the sobbing cries of injured animal. The air seems to clear as the eclipsed sun finds its way into the sky and the hands of the clocks tick onward past the hour. The house remains dark and cold. The lights burn low, barely effective at breaking through the gloom of the morning. The sun does nothing to relieve the grey—in fact anyone who looks to the sky for long will feel as though their eyes begin to burn, watering as something sears into their retinas. Look away soon enough and they will be left with a burnt image of the eclipse in their vision for several hours. Anyone who stares too long, however, will find themselves blinded for the duration of the day. The glass dogs have quieted by the time the day has set in, but they have not disappeared. The animals stay in the halls and in the courtyards— and they remain aggressive. They growl at anyone who comes to close, seeming even more defensive of their pack now that it’s day. They aren’t the only creatures that have stayed past their welcome. The Wallcrawlers avoid windows as much as possible, but they remain in force. Still slow to attack, they mostly stick to creeping across the walls and ceilings, leaving sticky and bloody prints in their wake. Linger too long, however, and they will still attack, rotted teeth and nails still deadly to anyone imprudent. The corpses in the Basement of the First House have disappeared between one moment and the next but the veiled nurse remains. She holds her syringe in her hands as she stands in the centre of the main room. She sways slightly as she hums under her breath; not cheerful, but distant. She is reluctant to talk to anyone this morning, but she will respond to those who press her. In the Ballroom the music box has gone silent. The dancer still turns quietly on her pedestal, her face still twisted with agony, but she does it now in a strangely pregnant silence. The writing has dried, flaking at the edges. The Ballroom is otherwise empty now, save for the curling tendrils of the rose, the thorns almost glittering in the dim light of morning. In the Open Hallway the rose bushes have over extended themselves, winding into the hallway despite the winter chill in the air. Light snowfall has started, scattering over the cobblestones. The hallway is not empty, though it might take a moment to notice. Voices break into the otherwise silent air, children laughing and scrambling through the hall. Their voices are indistinct, though a name occasionally breaks through. "Rose." The Chapel remains dark, with any light sources the guests might bring with them dimming to barely pierce the gloom. A chill has settled over it, noticeably colder than the rest of the House, with the room remaining uncomfortably cold; thin layers of ice and rime have formed over the windows, the frost creeping inward as if trying to claw a path into the space. The Drowned Woman, too, remains out today. She continues to sit by the Lake, running her fingers through the water as she stares out at whatever it is that swims below the surface. Her breath fogs in the cold and she shivers, but she seems far less aggressive today. She is almost hesitant to reach for anyone who approaches, but her touch remains deadly. In the Bakery, oil lamps have been set out that flicker dimly, with two hanging from hooks on either side of the door in the hallway; the shelves seem a little sparse, the baskets half-empty with some completely empty. What currently remains has a noticeable emphasis on pastries and bread made with bits of dried and preserved fruit, while a basket sits on the corner of the counter nearest the door full of misshapen bits, scraps of bread and baked dough of varying kinds. In the small kitchen past the curtain, there are a few bins of flour and containers of other ingredients covered and set out as if work was interrupted; a small basket in a back corner contains a few cakes and sweets hidden away under a cover. The scraps by the door and the few hidden sweets both seem to stave off the chill of the day for any guest who takes one, although eating more than one or two of the treats from the back room at once also brings with it a malaise of nausea and illness for a few hours. The baby has vanished from the Bachelor’s Kitchen. The massive hole in the floor remains behind, gaping open and dangerous to anyone who doesn’t watch their step. Most scissors in it have been returned to wherever they came or vanished, but there are a few still scattered in the dirt, crowding with the faint smell of blood and a distinct feeling of unease.