Wraithmere Tallowind House and Its Eerie Parlour Drift

The parlour of Wraithmere Tallowind House absorbs sound as though it were stitched into the upholstery. Dust rises in faint ribbons from the rugs, hanging briefly before lowering themselves into softened valleys between furniture legs. The faint scent of cooled tea lingers beneath the musk of old wool.

Every object folds quietly inward, shaped by domestic repetition now long undone.

The Steady, Soft-Footed Life of Marienne Holt Tallowind

Marienne Holt Tallowind, tutor of household penmanship and practical counting, shared the home with her older sister Verin, a button-maker whose income drifted from modest to sparse with each passing winter. Marienne arranged the writing cove with gentle precision—slates stacked by lesson level, quills sharpened carefully, and practice sheets folded along clean creases. She paced a short arc before the escritoire before each lesson, murmuring to steady herself. As Verin’s earnings thinned and Marienne’s fingers tightened from strain, lessons dwindled. Sheets remained uncorrected. Ink thickened in its bottle. Her routine loosened thread by thread, mirrored in the slow disordering of the chamber.

The Veiled Shelf Along the Narrow East Hall

Down the east hall, Marienne’s boots rest angled inward, their laces stiffened by time. Verin’s button molds lie scattered near the wainscot. A cracked lamp chimney sits beside a dust cloth dropped mid-task.

The Scullery Where Routines Fell Quiet

Inside the scullery, mismatched mugs hold a pale residue. A kettle, rimmed with chalk, rests beside the smooth stone Marienne once pressed to her aching wrists. A linen apron, once neatly folded, hangs without memory of its creases.

At the landing’s far end, Marienne’s final corrected sheet—ink faint and wavering—rests beneath a shawl she never reclaimed. Verin’s smallest button mold sits beside it, dulled by time. Wraithmere Tallowind House remains still, its rooms dimming softly, indefinitely abandoned.