THE GIRL
the old wing was a place of myth and legend grounded in its gruesome history and 3285 sq meter of red brick building complex and greens-in the weird resident fauna could be called that-as was any place with 'the old' in its name in the fused continent,
tales of bodies of intruders impaled on the outer boundary wall or feral beasts escaping inside the forlorn premises and only bones returning were abundant within the town of crimsonfell however the most devout believers of the core to the most mundane of normies would be hard pressed to disagree on the matter that the place had a sense of subdued violence to it.
it felt as if someone had shaped a thunderstorm to resemble a building, people reported feeling a sense of vulnerability when passing by the building, goosebumps would erupt and it was even a rumour that a Vanar had fled the town with only the skin on his back when he saw the place,
through its history of multiple murders and attacks of a stabby variety no one could remember the town without the building not even the town archivist whose age ballpark depending upon the distance to the nearest place of liquor was 156 to 6969 years, the innuendo was not lost,
similarly no one could remember anything being done about the evil presence, talks to removal or reconstruction found themselves being diverted to other more pressing concerns like- the runaway baker's daughter returning with a substantially larger belly or is that a hellhound staring with murder in its eyes at us from the wing's gates?
thus it was the common consensus of the town to stay away from the building and to avoid taking about it due to worries about stray hellhounds. normal residents of the town would consider it extremely foolish to say enter the hellish building alone at six in the evening disabling all the protective and alarm runes and sigils painstakingly attached to the old wing even the recently installed ones after the debacle with the indestructible hellhound through an uncanny skill with runes, sheer grit and luck alone on a dare...Maya Thakral was not as her mother liked to say very bright.
the old wing was a place of myth and legend grounded in its gruesome history and 3285 sq meter of red brick building complex and greens-in the weird resident fauna could be called that-as was any place with 'the old' in its name in the fused continent,
tales of bodies of intruders impaled on the outer boundary wall or feral beasts escaping inside the forlorn premises and only bones returning were abundant within the town of crimsonfell however the most devout believers of the core to the most mundane of normies would be hard pressed to disagree on the matter that the place had a sense of subdued violence to it.
it felt as if someone had shaped a thunderstorm to resemble a building, people reported feeling a sense of vulnerability when passing by the building, goosebumps would erupt and it was even a rumour that a Vanar had fled the town with only the skin on his back when he saw the place,
through its history of multiple murders and attacks of a stabby variety no one could remember the town without the building not even the town archivist whose age ballpark depending upon the distance to the nearest place of liquor was 156 to 6969 years, the innuendo was not lost,
similarly no one could remember anything being done about the evil presence, talks to removal or reconstruction found themselves being diverted to other more pressing concerns like- the runaway baker's daughter returning with a substantially larger belly or is that a hellhound staring with murder in its eyes at us from the wing's gates?
thus it was the common consensus of the town to stay away from the building and to avoid taking about it due to worries about stray hellhounds. normal residents of the town would consider it extremely foolish to say enter the hellish building alone at six in the evening disabling all the protective and alarm runes and sigils painstakingly attached to the old wing even the recently installed ones after the debacle with the indestructible hellhound through an uncanny skill with runes, sheer grit and luck alone on a dare...Maya Thakral was not as her mother liked to say very bright.