A contribution by idalia0

The old manor creaks under the weight of the wind and it own age; with every great groan, it threatens to crumble — but something stops it. Something keeps the clock ticking, the fireplace burning, and this ancient home alive. The fireplace is somehow lit, despite the manor having lied abandoned for years; still, its warmth welcomes you, offering a reprieve from the icy chill that emanates through the dark, shadowy hallways.

Across from the fireplace sits an old recliner with an end table nearby; a cup of tea sits on the table, laid on a purple doily. As you take a sip, you hear a voice. There's an air of prim sweetness to it, like the cup of sweet tea.

"Welcome back, dear."

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