The Host sinks to the floor. Through the floor. Into the Mansion's darkness.
The mortals flee where no mortals should ever be.
The corridors are smothered in cobwebs to the point of hiding doorways and windows. Almost no candelabra passed is lit. The air is damp, heavy, smothering. Lacking in portraits and sometimes wallpaper, eyes still flicker to life and follow their wild path through the Haunted Mansion. From the Grand Hall even now, strains of the Organist's tune echo from unexpected twists and turns.
Of all things, it seems to be raining again. At least, that's probably what that distant drumming coming from somewhere above them is.
Sooner or later, they'll strike a dead end. A bedroom, in fact, domineered by an oak bed with ragged sheets and a dusty vanity.
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syntheid
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Date: 2019-01-22 01:09 pm (UTC)The mortals flee where no mortals should ever be.
The corridors are smothered in cobwebs to the point of hiding doorways and windows. Almost no candelabra passed is lit. The air is damp, heavy, smothering. Lacking in portraits and sometimes wallpaper, eyes still flicker to life and follow their wild path through the Haunted Mansion. From the Grand Hall even now, strains of the Organist's tune echo from unexpected twists and turns.
Of all things, it seems to be raining again. At least, that's probably what that distant drumming coming from somewhere above them is.
Sooner or later, they'll strike a dead end. A bedroom, in fact, domineered by an oak bed with ragged sheets and a dusty vanity.