Merrowthane Quillostra House and the Silent Parlour Drift

The parlour of Merrowthane Quillostra House carries a heaviness that seems shaped by time rather than sorrow. Dust lifts in slow spirals from the rugs; dried tea and wool linger faintly beneath the larger stillness. Furniture leans inward, shaped by familiar gestures that once repeated themselves until they wore grooves into fabric, wood, and air.

The Tempered Routine of Lunessa Quillostra

Lunessa Quillostra, tutor of household handwriting and reading fluency, lived here with her cousin Berrin, an apprentice clock-trimmer whose seasonal wages rarely steadied. Lunessa cultivated the reading berth with careful constancy—quills trimmed evenly, primers stacked by difficulty, blotters aligned so no stain touched another. Before lessons she walked a small, patient arc, whispering through the syllables she planned to emphasize. When Berrin’s work faltered and Lunessa’s fingers stiffened, her dependable structure thinned. Papers waited uncorrected. Ink rims hardened. Quiet tasks slipped, one by one, into neglect.

The Corridor Where Her Rhythm First Softened

In the south corridor, Lunessa’s boots rest angled inward, their laces stiffened by disuse. Berrin’s bent clock-trimming plates scatter near the wainscot. A cracked lamp chimney sits beside a dust rag she dropped mid-task.

The Scullery in Its Slow Retreat

Inside the scullery, mismatched mugs hold thin rings of dried tea. A kettle rimmed with chalk stands beside the smooth cooling stone Lunessa used to soothe her aching fingers. A linen apron hangs slack from its peg, its once-neat folds long surrendered.

At the landing’s end lies Lunessa’s final corrected page—ink faint, lines trembling—beneath a shawl she never reclaimed. Berrin’s unfinished trimming plate rests beside it. Merrowthane Quillostra House remains dim, sinking further inward, indefinitely abandoned.