Sir Mallew, it's snowing!
The sound rattled through the air of the mansion like a distant roar, rattling off of dusty, quiet halls with no one to oppose it.
Not a spirit seemed to stir, nor had there been any that seemed to react to the anon’s presence.
The space seemed well and truly empty, only the cold creak of dimly-lit halls settling in the frigid air, a chill of quickly approaching winter making the now years-old mansion settle on its foundation, creak as if it were built of mere wood and bolts, and not malice and illusion.
The master of the house, however, was nowhere to be seen...at least not within the walls of his eerie mansion.
Standing amidst a low garden of raggedy, thin, and clearly struggling (but still alive) hedges, withering flowerbeds, and failed, gnarled saplings was a tall figure, cloaked in a long, black coat.
The hood of their coat was over their head, their broad shoulders slumped, at ease as they stood amongst the gently falling snow. A hand, ending in sharp, short black claws was reaching out towards the falling flakes, as if to catch one, only for each flake to dissipate as they neared the monster’s skin, melted as if by unnatural heat.
Milling about in the frigid garden were several cats, leaving small, crisp pawprints in the snow, galivanting about as the figure stood, silent amongst the sea of softly falling flakes, the area directly around him untouched by the frigid snow...
How long had it been since he was last outside, anyway?
