Marrowyth Selinthrae House and the Parlour That Held Its Breath After Dusk

The parlour of Marrowyth Selinthrae House holds a hush shaped by habit worn thin. The faint scents of cooled tea, dusted wool, and long-settled ink drift lightly in the corners. Upholstery curves inward where nightly routines once pressed themselves into the fabric, leaving imprints that outlasted the hands that shaped them.

The Careful, Measured Routine of Esmay Selinthrae

Esmay Selinthrae, tutor of household writing and gentle arithmetic, lived here with her cousin Therrin, an apprentice clasp-mender whose wages came and went with the seasons. Esmay tended the ledger-nook recess with quiet devotion—slates arranged in strict tiers, quills trimmed evenly, blotters turned to fresh corners so stains never overlapped. Each evening before lessons she paced a narrow circle, murmuring numbers under her breath to settle her nerves. But as Therrin’s work faltered and winter stiffened her hands, her once-steady rhythm loosened. Pages sat unmarked. Ink crusted at the rim. The recess mirrored her fatigue, softening slowly into neglect.

The Passage Where Her Rhythm First Shifted

In the south corridor, Esmay’s boots rest angled inward, their laces rigid and unused. Therrin’s warped clasp samples scatter near the baseboard, edges dulled by moisture. A cracked lamp chimney and a dust rag she let fall remain where she last set them.

The Scullery Drifting Out of Habit

Inside the scullery, mismatched mugs hold pale rings of dried tea. A chalk-rimmed kettle stands beside the smoothing stone Esmay pressed to her aching wrists. A linen apron droops from its peg, its former crisp folds dissolved into limp drapery.

At the landing’s far end rests Esmay’s final corrected slip—ink faint, margin trembling—beneath a shawl she never reclaimed. Therrin’s unfinished clasp template lies beside it. Marrowyth Selinthrae House remains dim, unmoved, indefinitely abandoned.