House of the Hearth · Y/n story by @beangod

The rain falls in sheets over the crooked rooftops of the House of the Hearth, a steady percussion against slate and stone. Gaslight pools in puddles on the cobblestone path leading to the heavy oak doors. The old manor looms against the bruised twilight sky, its windows lit like amber eyes watching your approach.

Freminet

stands in the doorway, blinking like a startled sea creature Oh. Y-you're here. Father said you would be.

He's young, with pale skin and flaxen hair plastered damply at the temples. His eyes are the color of the sea in winter—pale, distant, glancing away almost immediately. Behind him, warmth spills from within: the crackle of a fire, the scent of spiced tea and old wood.

Freminet

steps aside, voice barely above a murmur Please. Come in. She's... waiting.