B3 - Chapter 12 - The Manor
The gate groaned as it opened, hinges dragging against the stone beneath it; whatever the sound, it still opened flawlessly without resistance. Enya followed behind Pell as he and Digsby pushed it open and entered first. She tightened her grip on the Carrier's light, providing much needed radiance in an otherwise dark space.
She had expected something strange, of course. After all, they had went down the cellar's stairs into a space that had a second sky. It certainly didn't make sense from what she knew. Or maybe it did? Did multiple skies exist in different layers? What was above the blue sky that she knew outside?
"What the…" Pell muttered.
All six of them spilled through into a large foyer. A manor of some sort, towering and sprawling wide. A red carpet lay across the ground in front of them, woven stitching but also covered in small patches of mold and an even layer of dust. Ahead, a wide set of stairs, covered in the same layered carpet, rose to the second floor. There, it curled into a balcony and spread to the sides throughout the entire open space, iron railings lining the floor in a square. A large, broken chandelier hung above, framing the space.
The place smelled faintly of wood polish, mold, and dust, particularly from the particles that filled the air.
Pell stopped near the center of the foyer, scythe resting against his shoulder bone. He looked at the halls that opened left and right, then at the sweeping staircase above. His soul-flames flickered with disbelief.
"Why is there a manor here? What kind of soul-prison has a house in it?"
Elria floated by. "Moon had many helpers. Little assistants that tried to suck up to her. Sycophants who enjoyed decorating the place, building their own little worlds down here. It's not often you get to design your own pocket world. Moon probably didn't care and let them do whatever."
"Why a manor, though?" Pell asked.
She shrugged in the air. "Dunno. It's suuuuper tacky though. Some of them made like—grand chambers, or even witch huts. Gingerbread houses if they wanted to be funny. This?" she gestured, spreading her arms wide, "This is just unoriginal and lame. A haunted house, woo."
Pell eyed her. "You are annoying."
"Eh? Where did that come from?" She replied, finger pressed to her lip.
"My bad. You've been annoying."
They walked forward towards the staircase. Enya turned around, and the gate to the prison was still open.
"Isn't this where the door shuts and closes, trapping us forever?"
Pell groaned. "Kid, not everything you see in a fantasy story comes true. That's way too cliché." He continued to walk forward up the stairs, but he didn't hear the other's footsteps. He stopped and turned. "Why aren't you guys—"
The gate behind them had shut closed. The large imposing doors had transformed into a solid wall, the entrance completely missing.
Enya turned from the blank wall and faced Pell, arms crossed. "Big mouth."
Elria flew up above her, halfway across the stairs. "I told you—tacky and unoriginal. Moon didn't have the most creative dogs following her."
They continued up the stairs, but Enya soon found that maybe they had a bit too many people with them. Digsby's claws clicked against the wood, causing it to groan and creak. Ted.E was the bigger problem, being so large that it wasn't able to get up the stairs properly. It was getting a bit too crowded.
Enya raised her hand and unsummoned both of them, but left Carl, since he was providing her with Soul-Energy.
Then she noticed it.
The thread of Soul-Energy trickling into her felt weaker. She opened her screen, watching the numbers crawl upward. Slowly. One point. Ten long seconds. Another point.
Her brows knitted. "What…?"
It was supposed to be faster. When Carl had first awakened, she'd felt it—Soul-Energy constantly rising in her body, steady as a heartbeat, one roughly every second. Now it dragged slowly, like a snail.
She pouted, lips pressing together, folding her arms tight against her chest. "Why'd it slow down…?" she mumbled under her breath.
Carl himself didn't give an answer. He simply shrugged. Pell, already near the top of the stairs, glanced down back at her. "Hey, hurry up. There's something up here."
Enya closed her screen and began to move again. She'd investigate it later. "Coming!"
She hurried up the last few steps, the carpet sagging beneath her boots, until she reached the landing. Pell and Elria were already there, standing before another set of doors. They were tall and ornate, carved with curling lines that resembled vines, the shapes looping and twisting in symmetrical patterns. Time hadn't been kind to them. Dust clung to the edges of the carvings, and the golden handles had dulled to a pale brass sheen.
"Is that… the exit?" Enya asked, moving up beside them.
Pell rubbed the back of his skull as though it ached. "Maybe."
Elria drifted closer, her ghostly outline brushing near the doorframe. "Most likely. Seems locked though. Obvious enough." Her eyes narrowed, studying the seams. "Seems like really cheap work."
Enya stepped back to take in the rest of the second floor. The balcony stretched wide, iron railings running along the edge as it overlooked the foyer below. Across the walls, seven canvases, empty paintings, hung in neat symmetry. Three to the left, three to the right.
And directly behind them—facing the staircase—hung the largest one of all, one that had actual substance: a painting of a woman.
Enya's gaze shifted between the locked double doors, the stern painting of the woman, and the row of six others lining the walls.
Something about them felt expectant.
"I can try forcin' my way in," Pell suggested.
Elria floated back a few feet, crossing her arms with a grin. "Go get 'em, tiger. Show that scary door who's boss."
Pell's soul-flames dimmed to sharp slits. Damn witch.
He shifted his stance, one bony shoulder pulling back. Soul-Energy flared around his frame, funneled into the arm that gripped his harvester scythe. With a single, heavy step, he swung.
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The blade struck true, the impact ringing out like a struck bell. A loud clang, along with a bout of force rippled down the hall, rattling the dust from the chandelier above. For a heartbeat, the doors shone with a pale sheen, a veil of energy shimmering across their surface—then fading as though nothing had happened at all.
Enya winced at the sound, then looked again at the double doors. The golden handles gleamed dully in the Carrier's light, but the wood seemed less like wood now. The door shined with an illusory image, like an intricate spell circuit had been laid over-top. Yet, it didn't use mana. At least, she couldn't detect any.
"Huh," Elria said around a mouthful. Somehow, she'd conjured a bucket of spectral popcorn, the kernels translucent and glowing faintly as though scooped from her own misty form. "Despite how weak you look—you're even weaker." She tossed a piece into her mouth and crunched down, smirking. She was making the crunch sounds herself.
Pell's arm locked straight, joints stiffening from the backlash. His scythe slipped free, clattering onto the carpet with a dull clang. He glanced at his frozen limb, muttering a curse under his breath.
"Damn thing's not budging anytime soon." He yanked his shoulder forward, forcing the joint loose, then bent to pick up his fallen weapon. A faint click echoed as he reset the socket back into place.
Elria turned and floated up beside the nearest painting, tilting her head toward the gilded frame. "Seems to be locked for a reason. Not locked by anything that I can see. This seriously reeks of puzzle work. Moon's helpers loved this kind of thing—locking doors behind little games, pretending they were clever." She flicked a kernel of her conjured popcorn at the portrait. It phased through the canvas and hit the wall behind before dispersing.
Enya walked over to Elria, looking at the closest painting. It was completely white, an empty canvas with no ink. Below, sat a bronze placard with words written on it.
The end is but another beginning.
Elria shrugged, arms folded as her ghostly tail drifted lazily through the air. "Probably a riddle. These little lackeys of Moon's weren't exactly philosophers, but they loved leaving behind melodramatic quotes. Could mean anything. Could mean nothing."
"Melodramatic?"
"Yeah."
"What does that mean?"
"Huh?" she peered over at Enya. "Ah, right. Well, melodramatic means when a when a boy and a girl love each other very much, they—"
"Alright, that's enough, you insufferable witch," Pell cut in, stopping her shenanigans.
"Oh, boo," Elria fake pouted.
Pell came up to the canvas and read the bronze plate. His soul-flames narrowed with annoyance.
"So let me get this straight. We're in a prison—supposedly the worst of the worst, place to dump the most vile things that ever breathed—and instead of chains and iron bars, we've got… picture frames with bad poetry?" He jabbed a finger toward the blank canvas. "Tell me that doesn't sound more like some kid's adventure game than an actual prison."
Elria shrugged in midair, spinning slowly as if the subject barely concerned her. "Moon's assistants had an ego problem. They didn't want to build cages; they wanted to build mazes. All pomp, all flair, total drama. It's less about security and more about spectacle. I could probably break that seal easily—doubt the witchcraft on it is too strong, but I don't have access to any of my powers as a ghost."
Pell's jaw ground audibly. "Great. Real comforting, knowing we're stuck in a glorified funhouse run by the world's pettiest decorators."
Enya tuned their bickering out, her gaze drifting across the balcony. The six empty canvases lined the railings like invisible spectators, three to the left, three to the right. But at the far end, opposite the double doors, there was one that wasn't empty.
Her footsteps echoed on the creaky wooden floor as she crossed over. This frame was larger than the others, probably heavier, carved with delicate spirals of ivy and roses frozen in gold. Within, painted in strokes so fine they seemed almost alive, was a woman. She was seated against a dark backdrop, posture straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her skin was pale—almost too pale, like porcelain or marble, similar to the buildings of Talo. A silver pendant hung at her neck, its design a spiraling knot. Her eyes, though dulled by paint, seemed to follow Enya as she drew closer. The woman's lips were curved in the faintest trace of a smile.
Enya paused at the foot of the portrait, staring upward. "She's… really pretty," she said quietly, almost to herself.
Pell and Elria soon came up alongside her. Pell's soul-flames dimmed faintly as if he too was uneasy under the painted woman's gaze. Elria, however, only tilted her head, arms crossed as she regarded the portrait. Her voice was flat.
"That's me. From many years ago."
Both Enya and Pell turned their heads toward her in unison. They had to take several glances back and forth, from the painting, to her. "Really?" they asked at the same time.
Elria blinked at them with perfect deadpan for all of three seconds—then broke into a sharp laugh. "No. 'Twas but a joke." She spun lazily midair, her ghostly skirts flaring like mist, and with no further explanation, drifted over the railing. "Don't look so shocked. I'm not one for pretty clothes." She sank smoothly through the air toward the first floor, her laughter trailing faintly behind her.
It seemed different this time.
Almost forced.
Enya and Pell shared a look. He lifted his bony shoulders in a shrug, though the faint edge in his soul-flames betrayed his irritation. Together, they turned back toward the painting.
The bronze plate beneath the frame glinted faintly in the Carrier's Light. Pell bent forward, squinting as he read the quote aloud:
Beauty within, is beauty without.
The words settled over them with a strange weight. Enya glanced at the painted woman again, the way her pale eyes almost seemed alive, watching them.
By the time they reached the base of the stairs again back on the first floor, Enya's bonecarver's quill was finishing it's final stroke. Enya held open the Grim Pullet, one page now holding several new entries.
"Alright, that should be all of them," she declared.
The end is but another beginning.
Words cut deeper than any blade.
What is broken may yet be made whole.
Beauty within, is beauty without.
The hand that feeds is the hand that binds.
When the hour falls, so too begins the day.
That which is given must be taken.
If the paintings were truly part of some puzzle, it would probably do them good to write down the riddles that went with each. Luckily, Enya could still use her soul-bound items inside this space.
Pell walked beside her, carefully holding his scythe on his shoulder. "This all feels like a useless goose chase. None of this is important and is just wasting our time."
Carl, standing behind them, stiffly agreed, giving a solemn nod.
Pell glanced back at him and scoffed. "At least someone here's reasonable."
Enya gave out a soft chuckle as she shut the Grim Pullet, unsummoning it. "You're getting along with Carl better than I thought you would."
He turned to glance down at her, "Getting along?"
"Mhmm," she said with a light skip. "You seem to get along with Elria, too."
That earned her a hard look from Pell. "What part of me calling her a useless, disgusting, ugly hag sounds like we're getting along?"
Enya tilted her head. "I don't know… even though you insult her, you kind of… lighten up? Especially whenever she insults you back. It reminds me of whenever you call me a 'stupid brat,' back in Sable's dungeon. I think you two would be really good friends."
For a moment, Pell stared in silence. Then, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he brushed an invisible projection of Enya's words away from his face. "Don't overthink it. When I insult people, they usually get violent. But she can't do a damn thing to me. That's the only reason I enjoy it. And her fighting back just gives me more fuel for the flame."
They continued to walk toward the edge of the manor, near the left side where the first hallway appeared. "Also, I never called you a stupid brat."
Enya smiled to herself and turned away to keep walking. She could still remember—just partially—the early days of her inside the dungeon, before she could really comprehend speech. Pell had called her stupid a lot.
The corridor ahead stretched long, ceiling beams sagging under years of rot. Ahead, a faint glow pressed out from under a half-open doorway, warm and flickering like a dying candlelight.
"This should be where she went," Enya murmured.
Pell's scythe angled forward as he pushed the door open with the butt of the haft. The hinges groaned, spilling them into a wide, dust-choked chamber.
Inside was a large study. Shelves lined every wall, towering to the ceiling. Multiple rows of shelves that made it almost feel like a maze. Books sagged against one another, some spines cracked, other covers worn and peeling. At the room's center stood what must have been a once cozy reading nook. A big armchair rested by an empty hearth, small tables to the side stacked with illegible parchment, and a rug long decayed and now gray. Whatever comfort this place used to give—it had long bled away decades, maybe centuries ago.
Elria was flying above, looking at every nook and cranny of the place. Peering into each shelf, inspecting the corners and investigating any open crevices. Finally, she noticed them from the corner of her vision and flew back down.
"Cozy little hideaway, isn't it?" she said without turning, her voice bright, though it echoed strangely in the hollow study. "I give this room a B-"