T I M E L E S S
The Dornkirk manor was covered in stardust, corroded and in precarious state. Painted tiles on the floor were cracked and broken, holes opened like mouths in the ceiling, displaying a row of splintered wooden teeth in the room above. Wallpaper was yellowed and peeling, windows shattered, cracked. Every forgotten piece of furniture remained rotted or eaten away by time and unknown creatures, and Yeva was left to prowl through the shadows of the home, ever searching for Galetira's favor.
Where are you?
Room after room proved empty, and an eerie feeling of eyes upon her made her stop and turn, the beads of her ankle bracelets rustling as stopped to stare into the abyss of a darkened hallway. She touched the pouch at her hip, where Vhexur's die had been tucked away, and waited. She was a doe, listening for the rustle of carpet, the cracking twig of old floorboards. The sensation of paranoia did not pass, but yet it did not amplify either. After a long pause, she exhaled and hurried further on, peeking in doorways and closets.
At last, she reached a door with a broken handle, half hanging on its hinges. With a push of her shoulder, it shifted, and Yeva stood in a crumbling room. Poised in the center, near a lounger, was a rusted rolling cart. Upon which, sat a crystal flute of perfect condition, a startling contrast of finery, its contents still bubbling.
Memories were often tied to senses, food and drink especially, and this was no different. They were common invitations to a moment in time, tied to certain smells in particular, and without further ado, Yeva glided forward and grabbed the stem, "Cheers," she whispered in resounding loneliness, raising her glass to no one known, and with one last look towards the door, Yeva was thrown into a world of color, the dull taste of citrus still on her tongue.
The Dornkirk manor was covered in stardust, corroded and in precarious state. Painted tiles on the floor were cracked and broken, holes opened like mouths in the ceiling, displaying a row of splintered wooden teeth in the room above. Wallpaper was yellowed and peeling, windows shattered, cracked. Every forgotten piece of furniture remained rotted or eaten away by time and unknown creatures, and Yeva was left to prowl through the shadows of the home, ever searching for Galetira's favor.
Where are you?
Room after room proved empty, and an eerie feeling of eyes upon her made her stop and turn, the beads of her ankle bracelets rustling as stopped to stare into the abyss of a darkened hallway. She touched the pouch at her hip, where Vhexur's die had been tucked away, and waited. She was a doe, listening for the rustle of carpet, the cracking twig of old floorboards. The sensation of paranoia did not pass, but yet it did not amplify either. After a long pause, she exhaled and hurried further on, peeking in doorways and closets.
At last, she reached a door with a broken handle, half hanging on its hinges. With a push of her shoulder, it shifted, and Yeva stood in a crumbling room. Poised in the center, near a lounger, was a rusted rolling cart. Upon which, sat a crystal flute of perfect condition, a startling contrast of finery, its contents still bubbling.
Memories were often tied to senses, food and drink especially, and this was no different. They were common invitations to a moment in time, tied to certain smells in particular, and without further ado, Yeva glided forward and grabbed the stem, "Cheers," she whispered in resounding loneliness, raising her glass to no one known, and with one last look towards the door, Yeva was thrown into a world of color, the dull taste of citrus still on her tongue.
