@corruptionburn || where the Vilebloods roam
T he carriage came to a halt after what felt like ages of trotting and whinnying; the cold growing unbearable the longer the ride dragged on. Just as it had arrived, the carriage door swung open without an assisting device, and the young man clambered out, pulling his jacket closed around his chest.
S now was a foreign concept to him; the uncomfortably frozen wasteland quickly earned the rank of Worst Place in The World, Ever, and yet it was still somehow beautiful. This beauty was interrupted by the rotted bodies of the horses he could have sworn were lively and neighing mere moments ago, and he grew anxious thinking on whatever explanation lay in store for him.
H e traversed the cold winds, finally reaching a threshold. The relief was cut short when a brood of blood lickers began jumping in his direction, obscuring his path with their swiping. Too frozen to fight and live, he ran for the door - mysteriously opening at his arrival - slamming it shut behind him. Cainhurst Castle was famous for its ghosts, or so he’d been told, as they were not mere banshees, but infuriated spirits who lingered, waiting for their revenge.
E merald eyes fell on no moving creatures, save for an old scullery maid furiously scratching at the floors. He paused for moment, trying to warm up in the drafty construct; deciding against the risk of trespass with hindered mobility.
