Thalverene Wyckerlune House and the Parlour That Let Its Routines Slip Out of Sight

The parlour of Thalverene Wyckerlune House holds the softened weight of a routine that didn’t break but thinned until nothing remained to steady it. A faint scent of cooled tea and wool brushed against lamplight lingers above the idling furniture. Cushions preserve the impressions of quiet evenings that once arrived predictably, then less often, then not at all.

The Mild, Unhurried Rhythm of Elyra Wyckerlune

Elyra Wyckerlune, tutor of household sums and steady penform, lived with her cousin Verrin, a clasp-scribe whose seasonal orders dwindled every winter. Elyra tended the scorewright recess with soft discipline—quills trimmed evenly, slates arranged by degree, blotters rotated to reveal fresh corners. She walked a small, centering arc before lessons, murmuring figures under her breath. But when Verrin’s income faltered and stiffness crept into her fingers, her sequence loosened: slips left uncorrected, ink rims thickened, and the once-precise recess shifted toward mild collapse.

The Corridor Where Her Steadiness First Shifted

Along the north interior corridor, Elyra’s boots sit angled toward the wainscot, their laces hardened into permanent arcs. Verrin’s unfinished clasp plates scatter near the baseboard, edges blunted by moisture. A cracked lamp chimney rests beside a dust cloth she dropped mid-task and never reclaimed.

The Scullery Yielding Quietly to Disuse

Inside the scullery, mismatched mugs cradle pale rings of dried tea. A chalk-rimmed kettle stands beside the smooth stone she pressed to her aching wrists. A linen apron hangs slack from its peg, its former creases dissolved into limp folds.

At the landing’s far end lies Elyra’s final corrected slip—ink faint, margin trembling—beneath a shawl she never reclaimed. Verrin’s unfinished clasp plate remains beside it. Thalverene Wyckerlune House stays dim, untouched, and indefinitely abandoned.