The Hollowspar House Records and the Glassblower’s Abandoned Bench

The air carries the faint metallic sweetness of old ash, cooled slag, and wooden molds long since dried. Hollowspar House feels poised at the exact moment its owner stepped out, fully intending to return within minutes.

The Quiet, Brilliant Life of Seren Alwyn Hollowspar

Seren Alwyn Hollowspar, a respected 1900s artisan glassblower known for intricate laboratory vessels and decorative commissions, lived here with his cousin, Liora, and her daughter, Fenna.

Seren’s temperament combined unusual patience with bursts of creative obsession. His hands moved with deliberate rhythm, shaping molten glass into beakers, flasks, ornaments, and occasionally experimental forms no client had requested.

In the Glassworking Study, shelves still hold unfinished beakers with pale iridescent skins, glass rods arranged by thickness, and drafts of custom vessel designs annotated with delicate, looping handwriting. Liora’s domestic steadiness softened the home—linens folded with care, preserved fruit jars labeled neatly, and mending arranged in quiet stacks. Fenna’s presence lingers in small objects: a slate dusted with arithmetic chalk, a small wooden lark with chipped wings, and a folded drawing of her favorite glass bird figurine.

As demand for Seren’s work increased—especially among local chemists—his schedule tightened. Notes crowding his sketches reveal a mind stretched thin. His measurements grew compressed; correction marks multiplied. When Liora fell ill, the household’s rhythm collapsed. After her passing, Fenna was sent to relatives elsewhere. Seren attempted to maintain his craft, but his final logs show exhaustion, grief, and diminishing precision. One day he left the furnace cooling and simply never lit it again.

A Corridor Softened by Waning Footsteps

Upstairs, the corridor bears the slow erosion of household routine. The runner rug slouches in soft folds, its once-floral pattern dulled to near monochrome. A hall table holds a broken eyeglass frame, a torn delivery invoice, and a ledger where Seren began recording backlogged orders—its final entry halting mid-word. Pale outlines on the wallpaper mark where portraits once hung before being removed thoughtfully, not urgently.

A Sewing Room Frozen Under a Quiet Stillness

In the Sewing Room, Liora’s gentle order lingers. A blouse lies pinned beneath the treadle machine’s presser foot. Pincushions hardened by decades bristle with rusted needles. Thread spools lie toppled across the table, their colors faded into dusty pastels. Folded muslin, stiffened at the edges, rests like unfinished garments waiting for hands that never returned.

Behind the lowest crate lies a slip in Seren’s shrinking script: “Finish the bird piece — tomorrow.” The date never came. Hollowspar House remains abandoned, its tomorrow indefinitely suspended.