[Before the group moves too far, more paint chips away from the door. NO, it reads this time, and then more paint chips—but, no, that's not paint, that's... An arrow scratches off of the door and into the space between it and Wanda, pointing at her with an impossible tear in the world itself. It's the color behind your eyelids, both something and nothing all at once, a two-dimensional thing gone cockeyed as it rubs against the grain of spacetime. It shouldn't be possible, but it hangs in the air, this arrow scratched out of reality itself.
The song goes quiet as soon as they set foot in the lighthouse, but something about the way it gently fades suggests the silence is meant to be a gift. The door won't slam shut behind them, nothing will pop out of the shadows to maul them to death, they haven't walked into some grisly scene... In fact, what they've walked into is a storeroom that takes up the entirety of the lower level of the lighthouse. It's packed to the gills with just about everything a Lighthouse Keeper could ever need: food and water, of course, but also various toiletries, cleaning supplies, tools, linens, clothing, cookware, first aid supplies, etc. The lighthouse is well stocked.
A set of stairs spirals upward against the far wall, suggesting a second floor, and a body-sized heap of bloody plastic lies in the center of the room, crinkling faintly as raspy breaths heave from under it.]
no subject
The song goes quiet as soon as they set foot in the lighthouse, but something about the way it gently fades suggests the silence is meant to be a gift. The door won't slam shut behind them, nothing will pop out of the shadows to maul them to death, they haven't walked into some grisly scene... In fact, what they've walked into is a storeroom that takes up the entirety of the lower level of the lighthouse. It's packed to the gills with just about everything a Lighthouse Keeper could ever need: food and water, of course, but also various toiletries, cleaning supplies, tools, linens, clothing, cookware, first aid supplies, etc. The lighthouse is well stocked.
A set of stairs spirals upward against the far wall, suggesting a second floor, and a body-sized heap of bloody plastic lies in the center of the room, crinkling faintly as raspy breaths heave from under it.]