Averinth Moorspindle House and the Parlour That Softened After Its Final Chime

The parlour of Averinth Moorspindle House feels shaped by an ordinary routine quietly thinning until it could no longer hold itself intact. A faint blend of cooled tea, worn wool, and the metallic hint of long-settled ink lingers in the softened air. Upholstery bears the hollows of former habits, as though even the cushions recall evening postures more faithfully than memory.

The Gentle, Predictable Routine of Delalyn Moorspindle

Delalyn Moorspindle, tutor of household handwriting and modest arithmetic, lived with her cousin Emreth, a novice clasp-wright whose commissions shrank year by year. She tended the scriptwoven recess with deliberate discipline—slates arranged by difficulty, quills trimmed evenly, blotters rotated so fresh corners met each new page. Before lessons she walked a narrow circuit, murmuring figures softly to steady her breath. But as Emreth’s wages faltered and winter stiffened her hands, Delalyn’s unwavering structure began to loosen. Practice sheets lingered unmarked. Ink rims hardened. The recess, once faultlessly arranged, sagged gently out of alignment in a quiet echo of her diminishing resolve.

The Corridor Where Her Regularity First Faltered

Along the inner west corridor, Delalyn’s boots rest angled against the wainscot, their laces stiffened into rigid curves. Emreth’s warped clasp blanks scatter near the baseboard, edges dulled by humidity. A cracked lamp chimney lies beside a dust cloth she dropped mid-task, never retrieved.

The Scullery Drifting Quietly Into Disuse

Inside the scullery, mismatched mugs hold pale rings of dried tea. A chalk-lined kettle rests beside the smoothing stone Delalyn pressed against her aching wrists. A linen apron hangs slack from its peg, creases long surrendered into shapeless folds.

At the landing’s far end lies Delalyn’s final corrected slip—ink faint, margin wavering—beneath a shawl she never reclaimed. Emreth’s unfinished clasp blank remains beside it. Averinth Moorspindle House stays dim, airless, and indefinitely abandoned.