We spent around ten minutes checking every inch of this god damn tower for a way out. First floor to fifth, up and down every nooks and crevices of it.
The banquet hall was still dimly lit by that same orange hue bleeding from beneath the door. The air was heavy with that woody, moldy scent of rotting tables and wet ash.
I tried the fireplace, poking at the ashes for anything hidden underneath. Yet there was just splinters, soot, and a bone that looked too big to belong to a chicken…
I tried the wooden door, but we've established that it achieved nothing.
The second floor, where Rina is searching, was still cold and quiet. The air stank faintly of old perfume and dead flowers.
The furniture barely moved when I pushed them away, heavier than necessary, and the sheets on Worsetingale's bed felt rather… Cold, quite cold for some reason.
