Lark's Heart ❤
2024-12-26 04:00 pmAs you drift off to sleep, there is a sudden tremendous, jolting crash—like the sound of glass shattering.
On the bright side, when you bolt upright gasping for breath and looking around in confusion, it's very clear that something fucked up and magical is happening, and not that some terrible situation has suddenly befallen your real actual cottage.
… on the downside, this is clearly some sort of fucked up and magical situation and probably not one that is going to be super fun!
You're in some sort of shifting, nebulous space that greatly resembles Glass House: the hexagonal shape with six curtains, one on each wall, where the doors ought to be in the real Glass House. There's a wrought iron stairwell in the middle of the room that leads up to the Shrine Room, and all of the rest of unnecessary number of mirrors on every available surface.
However, it's also a fucking mess in here. Plenty of the mirrors have cracked or shattered entirely. The ground is covered in broken glass, and a bunch of the plush furniture has been broken, clawed apart, or knocked over. The big area rug underfoot is sopping wet and smells like salt water, squelching if you put your foot down. There even seems to be a few pools of blood oozing out from under a couple of those curtains.
And nothing in here seems to be staying still. Every so often there's a rattling tremor that seems to shake the entire foundation of the space, sending new mirror shards clattering down. The curtains and mirrors and even the furniture seems to move around or jitter in place; mirror frames change from wrought-iron gold to carved wood and back again.
As you gather your bearings, seated on one of the few upright pieces of furniture in the room, you hear your own voice. Your reflection is looking down at you from all the reflective surfaces, its arms crossed, head tilted to the side… at least, it seems like your reflection—but it's hard to say, with the scratching and scribbling obscuring its face.
"Ohhhh, wow, well… fuck. She really isn't prepared for guests."
On the bright side, when you bolt upright gasping for breath and looking around in confusion, it's very clear that something fucked up and magical is happening, and not that some terrible situation has suddenly befallen your real actual cottage.
… on the downside, this is clearly some sort of fucked up and magical situation and probably not one that is going to be super fun!
You're in some sort of shifting, nebulous space that greatly resembles Glass House: the hexagonal shape with six curtains, one on each wall, where the doors ought to be in the real Glass House. There's a wrought iron stairwell in the middle of the room that leads up to the Shrine Room, and all of the rest of unnecessary number of mirrors on every available surface.
However, it's also a fucking mess in here. Plenty of the mirrors have cracked or shattered entirely. The ground is covered in broken glass, and a bunch of the plush furniture has been broken, clawed apart, or knocked over. The big area rug underfoot is sopping wet and smells like salt water, squelching if you put your foot down. There even seems to be a few pools of blood oozing out from under a couple of those curtains.
And nothing in here seems to be staying still. Every so often there's a rattling tremor that seems to shake the entire foundation of the space, sending new mirror shards clattering down. The curtains and mirrors and even the furniture seems to move around or jitter in place; mirror frames change from wrought-iron gold to carved wood and back again.
As you gather your bearings, seated on one of the few upright pieces of furniture in the room, you hear your own voice. Your reflection is looking down at you from all the reflective surfaces, its arms crossed, head tilted to the side… at least, it seems like your reflection—but it's hard to say, with the scratching and scribbling obscuring its face.
"Ohhhh, wow, well… fuck. She really isn't prepared for guests."
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