DAY 045

[allthekeys]

|| Day 045: GENERAL Something somewhere is dripping. As the sunlight breaks across the sky, it’s impossible to miss – it’s distant but clearly heard, a faint drip drop of liquid against stone or marble or tiles. The source is indiscernible. And quickly, the steady dripping, the gentle splatter against a hard surface, it becomes unbearable. Annoying. Frustrating. Much like the beginnings of a pounding headache. And yet it mounts steadily, drip drip dripdripdripdripdrip until the individual drops can no longer be made out and whatever is leaking is instead pouring. Then, after a few moments of infuriating noise, comes the flood. A rushing onset of impossible amounts of blood tears through each house, staining the walls and ceilings and drenching the guests, coating and sinking into everything it touches, painting everything a dark murky red. For a moment when it washes over you you can’t see. There’s only the coppery smell and taste and a deep feeling of wrong that doesn’t quite pass when the blood sinks into the floors, leaving behind smaller pools and stains on all interiors. The water in the Pool remains red with the flood of blood. The blood is sticky and difficult to work out of skin and clothes and as it starts setting into creases and folds, the smell only gets stronger, richer. It smells like carnage. It feels like slaughter. Throughout the day, anybody with a power or ability will find that these skills are more difficult than normal to access and not always under their control. The air quickly begins to take on a winter like chill, freezing the bloodied clothes to the body of those wearing them unless they are willing to remove them. The blood creates a burning sensation as it rests on skin that leaves behind rash marks if let go for too long, further encouraging them to remove their old garments. Each will find that they are in possession of bags that are entirely soaked through, save for a neatly folded white uniform, so crisp with starch that the creases remain long after the attire is donned. No one remembers finding or taking this item, but it seems rather attached to them. Putting it on seems to provide an uncanny sense of warmth and comfort, the chill fading from their bodies once they make up their minds to wear it. For those stubborn enough to refuse such a clear request, the day will only grow more bitingly cold and the blood will soon cause rashes on their skin, angry, raised flesh where the damp clothes rested. It doesn't dry but remains tacky and foul on the skin and clothes. To anyone not too distracted by the coat of blood slowly dripping down the walls and furniture throughout all four houses, it’s clear that almost all items have scorch marks on them and wispy black imprints from flames. The dolls are all standing up on their stiffly jointed legs and are staring at any who come across them with their deeply disconcerting human eyes. Any who turn away from a doll while in its presence will find that the doll has apparently advanced on them whenever they turn back to face it – somehow without making a single sound. Their porcelain eyes are moving restlessly wherever they’re scattered, twitching and spinning slightly in place, still slippery with tears. On the stairs between the first and second floor of the first house someone has written in the blood. At the top of the stairs someone has drawn an arrow pointing down with the words "going up" scrawled beneath it. At the bottom of the stairs, someone has drawn an arrow pointing up with the words "going down" written beneath it. Rose and Grant have vanished from the room they were hiding in and are nowhere to be found, though someone has left a bundle of wildflowers on the desk in the Study. In the Ballroom are the outlines of footprints pressed into the mess left on the floor. Following the footprints will cause the person to begin to hear music, and to feel a sudden change in light. Should they dance the dance through to the end, they will feel arms settling around their waist and a mouth pressed briefly against their ear, a male voice whispers. "Unwittingly usurping the unsuspecting monarch." The moment the last word is spoken, the arms and the music vanish, and they are left staring at their own footprints on the dirty floor. In the Theatre someone has taken the time to sketch out the outline of a corpse on the stage in the blood, the body fallen at an odd angle. The corpse is gone, but a message has been left. “Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we will die. Or we would, but we’re already dead. So be merry for a little while until the sorrow returns.” On the giant doors in the basement, someone has drawn an archway that seems to reach far higher than any normal person could manage. In the middle, they have also taken care to draw a knob and a letter slot. Through the picture of the letter slot a faint breeze can be felt. Someone has written the words "Just where do you want to go?" in the space under the arch. Most of the Nurses have vanished from the hospital, leaving only one who seems to be watching over two toddlers as they play with the toys in the corner. They are easily recognizable as Shion and Lily, though both appear older than they were when their guardians last saw them. A baby sleeps in a basket nearby, though the two young children seem to ignore her. The door to the Journey Bedroom is ajar, its surface still deeply scratched, blood now pooling in its gouges. On the floor inside are a few torn up pieces of lined notebook paper, although nothing appears to be written on them. Don startles awake in the Birdcage Room, locked into one of the cages, gripping at the blood-slippery bars that trap him. On the wall in the Meat Freezer someone has written in a clearly shaky hand. “There’s nowhere to go except-“ In the Courtyard, the fairy ring keeps growing, the fungi and grass apparently thriving despite the cold. There’s something inviting about the circle, the fine cracks in the stone notwithstanding, and anybody who steps inside might find themselves with a soft whisper in their ear urging them to stay. Dave stands in the middle of the bar with a mop in his hand, both himself and the mop completely soaked with blood. He makes no move for a long moment to clear the liquid from his face and eyes, and instead heaves a heavy sigh before he begins to clean. He can be found there most of the day, making a determined effort to get rid of the remaining stains.