Varrowind Ellisarne House and the Parlour That Forgot the Shape of Evening

The parlour of Varrowind Ellisarne House seems shaped by a domestic rhythm that dwindled rather than broke. A faint blend of cooled tea, dust, and wool floats above the settled furniture. Cushions bear the softened hollows of evening routines that ended too gradually to notice.

The Even, Predictable Habit of Elythria Ellisarne

Elythria Ellisarne, tutor of household arithmetic and steady handwriting, lived here with her nephew Orric, a novice clasp-carver whose commissions declined season after season. Elythria tended the tally-quill alcove with quiet rigor—quills aligned to matched lengths, blotters turned to expose fresh corners, practice slates sorted in careful tiers. She walked a small preparatory circle before each lesson, murmuring figures under her breath. When Orric’s income fell and winter stiffened her joints, order slipped. Pages lingered untouched. Ink rims hardened. The alcove grew lopsided, mirroring a fatigue she never voiced.

The Passage Where Her Consistency Began to Drift

In the eastward corridor, Elythria’s boots lean against the wainscot, their laces stiffened by disuse. Orric’s unfinished clasp carvings scatter near the baseboard, edges blunted by moisture. A cracked lamp chimney rests beside a dust cloth she never reclaimed.

The Scullery Settling Into Quiet Disuse

Inside the scullery, mugs bear pale, dried rings of tea. A chalk-rimmed kettle stands beside the smoothing stone Elythria pressed to her aching wrists. A linen apron droops from its peg, its former crisp pleats surrendered into shapeless collapse.

At the landing’s far end lies Elythria’s final corrected slip—ink faint, margin trembling—beneath a shawl she never reclaimed. Orric’s unfinished clasp blank rests beside it. Varrowind Ellisarne House remains dim, quiet, and indefinitely abandoned.