Ravenhollow Mirefell House and the Parlour Stilled Mid-Breath

Stepping into the parlour of Ravenhollow Mirefell House, the air compresses softly, carrying the faint sweetness of cooled tea and old wool. Dust drifts in suspended ribbons, gathering along curved chair arms softened by years of use. Everything folds inward—flattened cushions, dulled brass, threadbare antimacassars—settling into a hush that feels both recent and impossibly old.

The shrouded quiet lingers in every crease of fabric.

The Dimmed Routine of Marian Elsbeth Mirefell

Marian Elsbeth Mirefell, a tutor of neat script and domestic arithmetic, lived here with her younger sister Thalia, a seamstress whose income faltered in winter. Marian shaped the script chamber with her careful habits: quills sharpened to clean points, blotters laid flat, practice sheets folded and refolded according to lesson type. Her temperament trended restrained but precise—she walked the same soft arc around her escritoire before each lesson, checking ink levels twice even when unnecessary. When Thalia’s health weakened, their expenses rose. Lessons dwindled; blotters remained unwashed; correspondence left unopened. Marian’s stiffening fingers made her slower, and the chamber gradually filled with slips of half-corrected work, drafts unwound from their tidy stacks, and inkbottles clouded by neglect.

The Corridor Where Her Footsteps Lost Their Regularity

In the east corridor, Marian’s shoes sit angled outward, laces stiff. A cracked lamp chimney lies beside a dust cloth she dropped mid-task. Thalia’s sewing scraps cluster near the baseboard, threads fading into muted tones.

The Scullery Dimmed by Fatigue

Inside the scullery, mismatched cups bear a grey sediment. A kettle rimmed with chalk residue rests beside a cooling stone Marian once used to soothe her aching hands. A linen apron droops from its peg, creases long since disappeared.

At the landing’s end, Marian’s final practice sheet—ink faint, strokes uneven—rests beneath a shawl she never lifted again. Thalia’s thimble lies beside it, dented and dulled. Ravenhollow Mirefell House sinks further into its own layered stillness, its rooms dimming softly, indefinitely abandoned.