Elyndrowe Briarhask House’s Haunting Parlour Drift

The parlour of Elyndrowe Briarhask House receives a visitor like a lung that has not drawn breath in decades. Dust softens every contour; silence presses into the fabric folds, the hearth tiles, the splayed pages along the bowed shelves. A faint aroma of wool and long-cooled tea clings to the air, settling into the hollows of furniture worn down by habit rather than haste.

The Measured, Quiet World of Ada Lorienne Briarhask

Ada Lorienne Briarhask, tutor of domestic writing and ledger-hand, lived here with her older sister Fennet, a dressmaker whose commissions rose and sank with the season. Ada kept the copying room in orderly array—slates stacked by lesson level, pencils trimmed to fine points, and handwritten examples laid out in symmetrical lines. Her temperament leaned gentle yet taut: she re-creased aprons twice each morning, tapped her quill before uncorking ink, and paced three steps from hearth to escritoire whenever arithmetic weighed on her nerves. When Fennet’s eyesight faltered and the dress orders dwindled, Ada’s fees could not sustain them. Bills thickened. Lamps dimmed. Lesson sheets gathered undusted. Her joints stiffened; her corrections slowed; the household rhythm frayed until work and rest blurred into the same quiet fatigue.

A Corridor Where Her Routine Began to Unravel

In the west corridor, Ada’s boots rest angled against the baseboard, laces stiff. A dust cloth lies where she dropped it mid-gesture. Fennet’s dress patterns, half-pinned and bending at their edges, lie scattered near the stair rail.

The Scullery Where Small Tasks Fell Silent

Inside the scullery, mismatched mugs gather pale residue. A kettle rimmed with chalk stands beside a cooling stone once used to soothe Ada’s aching fingers. A linen apron hangs without its former crisp folds.

At the landing’s far end, Ada’s final practice sheet—ink faint and wavering—lies beneath a shawl she never lifted again. A pair of Fennet’s shears rests beside it, dulled at the hinge. Elyndrowe Briarhask House sinks further into its inward quiet, its rooms dimming slowly, indefinitely abandoned.