spooky stuff.

[unabatedly]

The late autumn might not be an ideal time for travel, this time it cannot be helped. Crossing the mountains and down into the heartlands, their destination rests in the lush forests of the Dales, and even the promise of warmer winds does little to push her feet forward when the cold has set in at night while they've journeyed. Alistair vacillates between quiet and contemplative to a strange sort of cheerful, though it's of little comfort when the missive had initially seemed so dire. The port city is still a few days' journey away and while they've mostly clung to the well-trodden roads, the two of them decide to cut through the forests nearby to shave off a day's worth of walking in the hopes of encountering one of the villages to the west before they'll need to take a sharp turn north to return to the highway. Discretion has always been their intention, the both of them dressed more like travelers or hunters than anything more, and they've just finished discussing how much further they're content to keep walking before giving up and pitching camp when the spires of what looks to be a castle come into view, and the both of them are filled with enough wide-eyed wonder to give it a look.

From a distance, it seems old and abandoned, covered in moss and ivy up the one side. The gate is locked and barred, walls high enough to be imposing, a clear deterrent for all who might come close. But drawing closer, it still seems a better sight than initially believed, and while it still seems empty and barren of life, it's shelter and that's all that matters.

They could keep going. She even suggests it, if only because something gnawing in her stomach says it's unkind to walk across the threshold of those who came before and who may have died unduly, but the sky looks unwelcome and Alistair encourages her to at least consider giving it a look over. Staying in the inner halls and perhaps finding an old fireplace to use would at least keep them out of the cold and away from prying eyes, and if it rains they'll stay dry. The climb over the gate is easy enough and Neria goes to look for a way in while Alistair looks for sticks or wood around to make use of even if they can't access the interior. A stable will do, if nothing else, and they might at least find a place out of the wind to huddle up. The stable won't be much for living in, she's quick to find, but around the back she swears she sees a little light in the upper windows of one tower, a sight she starts to walk towards.

And that's when Alistair starts shouting.

She's quick to follow the sound and scramble her way over a low fence that's blocked off access to an old garden full of gnarled roots and browning plant life to where Alistair looks to be barely holding something at bay, sword flung far from him and only his shield keeping him safe.

"Stop, stop!" she cries out, already moving her hands to summon a barrier in the hopes of getting it between Alistair and his assailant.

Comments

[unabatedly]

Hand still raised, she chances a quick look to the side at the pile of sticks and kindling. Nothing catches her eye, not initially, and she looks up at Alistair in confusion.

But he knows. His expression is pale, now, looking between the rose on the ground and the creature before them. "I... I didn't know, it was just a flower--" He's as confused as Neria is, even if he understands a little better now. "I didn't think it was attached to anything! It was the only thing living out here..."

It prompts her to look again. It's not the white of the rose she sees at first but the green standing out, and she follows the curve of it to the petals. The same that adorn the creature itself. If it's a part of it... She winces. Her gaze swivels back to the creature, watching cautiously even as she starts to step towards the flower itself. "You're right. It's yours-- He didn't mean to harm you." Only once she reaches it does she kneel to scoop it into her hand, and she holds it out even as she steps back towards the looming figure.

Behind her, Alistair protests softly and reaches for her that he might coax her back.

[notcharming]

No longer mine. Dead now. He took life from me and I will take it from him!

Whether she realizes it in the moment or not, the creature is very clearly moving from single words and simple phrases to longer, more complex sentences as time passes, as they keep talking. It doesn't seem to be wholly linear, but it does seem to be moving clearly in that direction.

And then, softer, laced differently, though it's hard to say with what:

Or you.

It whispers across her mind, almost gentle in comparison to it's previous words.

The curse only demands blood for blood. It does not care from whom.

[unabatedly]

There's a wariness in her frame as she regards the creature once more, fingers closing around the stem of the rose unconsciously as she considers. "What curse do you speak of?" It's possible it's a demon. It wouldn't be too far-fetched a tale to weave, that someone might give up their flesh for a spirit to possess. But this is different, all the same. "What cursed you?"

"Neria." Alistair's hand encircles her forearm, steady. "I don't think this is a good idea."

She turns back and there's a quiet hiss from her. "Do you have a better idea?" Curses she can possibly deal with; a sort of skeletal monster might kill them both if it gets the chance. For now, it's calmer than it was, and she'll follow that vein. Her gaze returns to it. "How much blood does the curse require?" Alistair, again, calls her name. His grip tightens and she can practically hear the crinkle of leather as his grip tightens on her shield in his hand. "How much does it need?" she asks again, resolute.

[notcharming]

The creature regards her steadily for a long moment. Then there is another hiss, but it seems less like the animalistic stay back noise it was making before and more a sound of almost human irritation or dismissal.

One of you can leave. One must stay until the price is paid.

The creature makes a strange, shuffling sort of gesture, almost like a bird ruffling it's feathers. It's extremely unsettling.

I did not make the rules. There's something softer in it's "voice". I do not enforce them.

[unabatedly]

"It was a rose, for the Maker's sake," Alistair protests, tugging at her now so they can look at one another. "Neria, this is absurd. We're not really going to do this, are we?" But even he is wavering, not entirely certain that the two of them alone are up to the task of killing the creature, even if that would be the quickest way to handle all of this. And, in truth, she can't say she disagrees. So why is this different than anything else they've encountered?

There's no difference. Except, perhaps, in her.

She turns back to Alistair. "We can't walk away from this." Could but likely won't make it out unscathed, if at all. "You don't know what this curse could do."

"Assuming there even is one," he hisses, low, and isn't certain whether the figure will hear him. "Neria, I--"

"I'll stay," she tells him, quietly. "If there's a curse... I've the better chance of understanding it." Alistair opens his mouth and she shakes her head. "Don't. You're needed. They're waiting for us to arrive and one of us has to go." She doesn't explicitly say he can bring reinforcements if it's necessary, doesn't think she needs to, but there's a burning frustration seething beneath it while she wants to ask why he picked the damn rose in the first place. At the last, though, she doesn't ask.

"We can do this together," he insists. But another look at the creature makes her thing that no, those odds aren't very good, even with magic. She turns and his grip tightens on her arm. "Neria--"

"I'll stay," she says, firmly, to both of them. "I'll stay. Alistair can go. Safely." She looks back at him. "And I'll join you when I can."

[notcharming]

It watches them, not precisely calmly, but with a patience that's probably surprising and an alien kind of curiosity. It looks almost lizard-like, like this, the way it tilts it's head and holds itself still.

You can test it, if you want. It offers, after a moment, as they argue about the curse. But I would not recommend it..

More and more, the creature gives the impression of something ruled by instincts, but capable of rational discourse beyond them. Now that it is less in the moment of betrayal and hurt, it seems... more human, though it only makes it's appearance more horrifying, to see it slowly take on human mannerisms and speech as though remembering they exist.

Safely, It agrees, with a nod. He may leave.

There's something about the "tone" that conveys more confirmation than permission.

[unabatedly]

You can test it, it says, but she doesn't like the idea of that. Not, at least, while Alistair is pushing to attack the creature. Blood for blood. She doesn't want to take the chance, not just yet. There'll be time for that later. As it confirms Alistair may go, she nods, a briefly uncertain flicker in her eyes as she acknowledges it and the sentience it possesses now that it is no longer under immediate distress. It could be human, she realizes, and that thought alone is horrifying.

As she turns back to him, Alistair's face is twisted in a muddle of pain and anger, his grip on her arm tight even as she begins to pull away from him. He tugs her back in, just long enough to make it look like a friendly embrace, quietly telling her, "I'm going to come back for you."

And then he lets her go, and she him, and Alistair's expression smooths out into something simmering as he looks at the creature. He turns to retrieve his sword and when he passes her again, she touches his arm. "Be safe, Alistair."

"You as well," he tells her, meaning every word. His eyes fall on the looming thing in front of them and it looks as if he might say something and then decides against it, wise enough to accept the futility of an argument or a threat. How can he tell the thing not to hurt her when it's said a life for a life? With little fanfare, but certainly begrudgingly, he turns and heads out of the garden gate and back to the entrance of the grounds. Neria watches him go, almost anticipating that he might turn and attack the creature, but he never does.

When at last she can no longer see his retreating form or the backwards glances, she turns back to the creature that towers over her. "What needs to be done for this curse?"

[notcharming]

The gates close of their own accord behind Alistair as he leaves, with a very final sounding clang. And then, it is just the two of them.

She turns back towards the creature and finds it staring at her. It seems smaller now than before and it's hard to tell if that's just because it's not attacking or if there's some change that's come over it. It certainly seems entirely more humanoid than it had just minutes ago, though it is still more or less skeleton and roses and shadow. It tilts it's head slightly as it regards her, almost awkwardly, as though now that it has it's prize, it's not entirely sure what to do with it.

I don't know. It says, in her mind and then, somehow, despite being bone, there's a shadowy, grotesque impression of it licking it's lips, something dark and slick in it's mouth. Was it there before? Impossible to tell, but there is a clear change a moment later, something new,

"I don't... remember," it wheezes out, voice low and graveled with disuse. There is no emotion that it brings to not remembering, the words merely facts, an attempt to explain.

[unabatedly]

The 'tongue' and the voice are equally unsettling in completely different ways, enough that she looks initially uncomfortable, though that settles more into something that resembles curiosity...or, it would if the circumstances were different. If she hadn't just agreed to stay with a creature she cannot completely comprehend or if she hadn't also agreed to pay for a misunderstanding with blood. Demons don't require blood, though perhaps that's just some kind of roundabout desire for blood magic. For flesh.

Neria looks it over once more, finally better aware that it doesn't look quite as menacing as it had, no longer so large or monstrous, though what she sees now still looks twisted and horrific all on its own. Doubly so now that she better understands it isn't solely some cursed facsimile but something alive and aware.

"I suppose it'd be a foolish question to ask how long you've been like this." Long enough for the necessities of speech to be irrelevant, possibly. "But you still know what's required because you remember that or...something has made that clear." A transcription or some kind of inherent understanding of the curse's wording even if not in practice. That brings up a whole slew of questions, ones she doesn't voice. After all, for all she knows, she's been decidedly tricked into something nefarious.

Seems a bit elaborate for that, though.

"Do you have a name?" she asks, realizing only now that it might be helpful to stop considering it a creature.

[notcharming]

"I don't remember..." it repeats, confirms, and it really seems to think that covers all of her questions. It looks at her curiously, now, moves slightly closer. There's something about the motion that both doesn't seem to be rooted in fear and resembles a skittish cat all the same. It's like it can't quite remember how close is the acceptable amount of close before something becomes threatening or overbearing, but it's trying all the same.

"Since you are here, I can show you," it says, which makes perfect sense to it, but it wouldn't be able to say why. There is so much that it doesn't remember, that has drifted to instinct and thoughtless knowledge over... however many years it has been here. It offers her it's arm, courtly, before staring down at it in a confusion she might be able to read even without it having any expressions, as though it's not entirely sure why it's done it.

[unabatedly]

As it steps closer, it will find she doesn't shy away at all. Neria is watchful and wary, true, but doesn't seem to carry any outward fear as it draws nearer with its own kind of uncertainty. It's the extension of its arm that seems to take her aback more than anything else, taking more than a short moment to process what it's doing. If she thought the jape would land, she'd express the irony of a creature treating her with more courtesy than humans, but she knows better and says nothing to that.

There's a slow exhale where some more of the tension seems to be released and with care, she reaches out to accept the offered arm before it might recant. It's another piece that tells her it's more than just a sentient creature...and it likely isn't a spirit.

"All right," she says, calm smoothing out to something almost gentle. There isn't quite a smile but the curtain of caution has lifted just slightly in her eyes, enough to show an amicability that's trying to assure both herself and it.

[notcharming]

Touching it is fairly horrifying, but might actually not be as bad as she was expecting all the same. There's a thin layer of flesh stretched tight over the bones, nearly invisible to the eye, but it seems to be what's holding it all together, rather than just outright magic. If she's not wearing gloves, she'll have to be careful of the thorns as well, the way the roses wind around the creature's limbs. But the shadows aren't nearly as unpleasant as they looked, feeling like cool, soothing fog against her skin.

There is something about being up-close to it. One might expect it to have an aura of fear or malevolence, but there's something more quiet about it, like sleep or silence. It's not quite soothing, at least, not while one was looking at it, but it's incongruously gentle all the same.

It stares at her a moment as she takes it's arm, not as though there's anything wrong, but as though it doesn't fully know what comes next, like no one has ever touched it before. Perhaps it is simply that, like everything else, it cannot remember. After a moment, it seems to remember what they were doing, however, and pulls her lightly into motion, bringing her with it indoors. The doors close behind them with a final sort of sound as they walk inside, but at least it's warmer in here.

"There are servants," he says, as they move, and his voice is awkward and slow, clear that it is not entirely sure why it is telling her this, just knows that she will want to know, "If you voice a desire, they will do their best to see it done."

[unabatedly]

She realizes it only at that first touch, gloveless as she is, that it isn't just bone. It takes some effort not to pull away out of shock as she'd expected to touch simple bone and not something else, and it just adds to the terrible picture that's forming in her mind of what this creature is...and was. The thorns aren't so bad, not against the leather covering her arms, but she does have to be careful with her hands as they walk, that she might not brush up against them by mistake. It's the darkness that enshrouds it that's most peculiar, oddly soft in a way that she hadn't been predicting.

The first steps into the castle are uncertain ones, made doubly so at the closing of the door, its decisiveness made clear. She can only hope Alistair doesn't plan on returning in a couple of days lest he find all sorts of problems. It doesn't feel like she'll be leaving in short order.

A promise is a promise, though.

The entry they walk through is warm and despite the gloomy lighting, she realizes that it doesn't feel old or dusty, doesn't carry with it the same atmosphere as somewhere abandoned might. Instead, there's an almost still life quality to the few pieces of furniture or fixtures they pass by, unused but preserved unnaturally. It's eerie. But at least she has the answer to her unspoken question of whether it's lived here all on its own. "What do they look like?" she asks, wondering if its condition is the outlier here or if she should be looking out for creatures not unlike itself, made of bone and shrouded in dark and roses.

[notcharming]

It is a wretched new bit of uncomfortable humanity, that her question makes the creature laugh. The noise is rusty and sharp at the edges, but that is definitely what it is doing. A moment later, the reason why becomes obvious,

"They do not." He says at first and it is unclear why that is so funny, until he clarifies a moment later, "I do not know if they are spirits or magic, but you will not be able to see them. You will simply find things to your liking and of your request. As though they had always been."

There's something about those words that seems... not important, exactly, but perhaps a bit of an explanation about everything here. Everything about the creature, after all, hasn't seemed to change, so much as just be different from how it was. As though it had always been.

Is it possible she is somehow shaping it? It has seemed more human, the longer she is around it.

"The whole of the castle is yours to explore, but I suggest you do not come up here alone," it says as it leads her up first one set of stairs then another and another, "It is different, every time. I cannot say it would not be dangerous."

[unabatedly]

The fact that it laughs at all seems to take her aback and Neria watches it with briefly wide eyes that, eventually, settle into a far more curious look, though if that's directed at it or at what it tells her isn't clear. "I won't ask for much, I assure you." She'd ideally not want to stay long enough to ask for anything but she's coming to understand a little at a time that this likely won't be a short engagement. There's some part of her warming up to the idea in an odd way that it'll be interesting, something to work on, something new.

The other part of her looks at the creature leading her and worries that whatever curse has befallen it may well affect her too, and to be so long from allies would not bode well for her.

Her gaze rises to the stairs it escorts her up, each set taking them further. "I'd need to call for you, then," she says quietly, not uncomfortable with the idea but equally uncertain if that would be troublesome. Though-- "What does it change to?"

[notcharming]

"The servants would find me," it says, as though it is that simple. It doesn't have much in the way of vocal inflections, but whether that is something in it's nature or part of the curse is unclear. Still, it seems very matter of fact about everything, in as much as it can be.

Case in point, it seems a bit confused at her question,

"Whatever it chooses to be. It repeats sometimes, but it is never the same twice in a row. You will see." It pushes open the door...

Every thing in her that can sense magic lights up like she's looking into the heart of a star when he does. It seems impossible that this room cannot be felt from outside the door, if not half the countryside. More physically, it is a lovely bedroom with a balcony overlooking the mountains, sunlight streaming in. The air is warm, even though the windows are broken, overgrown with ivy and huge roses. Everything is overgrown with them, to the point that it is hard to not step on them, though oddly the creature doesn't seem to mind her doing so, does so itself as it leads her in deeper. The air smells of plants and roses, not unpleasantly, and would be peaceful if it weren't for the magic pulsing at her.

Or the glass coffin in the center of the room, overgrown, too, with the flowers.

There is someone inside.

[unabatedly]

Stepping even close to the threshold feels like too much, the feeling of the magic within nigh on overwhelming. It toes the line between tolerable and just a little like drowning, the surfeit of it close to intoxicating. It takes Neria a few moments to better focus on what she's seeing as the room itself feels every inch like an impossibility, from the warmth within to the plant life that grows wild with abundance. She can only guess it means that these things feed off of the magic within, for no natural vines could grow in such a way.

The creature leads her further in and Neria tries, really, not to step on any of the flowers, but it becomes nearly impossible the closer it brings her to the center where the flowers are everywhere, overgrown and somehow not choking one another. And with them, practically buried under roses and ivy, is a glass coffin. She can make her guesses and ask questions but she realizes she likely knows what might be inside.

Now she understands better why all of this must change. It's to protect whomever is within.

With care, she lets go of the creature's arm and slowly steps towards the coffin, still doing her best not to trod on any of the flowers. Neria tries to smooth the ivy and flowers to one side with the utmost gentleness, not wanting to harm anything in here, so she can look inside without opening it.

[notcharming]

Inside, there is a young man, beautiful and delicate of face and clearly lithe of limb, dressed in a prince's finery. He is lovely, on the adult side of the cusp of manhood but not far beyond it. Were he not entirely encased in glass and his chest utterly still, she would think him merely asleep, cheeks still lightly flushed and lips parted slightly as though dreaming

The creature comes over and lays a hand on the glass, it's touch gentle, possessively so, covetous,

"He is mine. He has been here as long as I have been," there's something different about it's voice, more there, and when she looks up, it is to an entirely different kind of horror than the one she has been used to.

The curving horns are still present, the missing eyes as deep, dark pits with lights deep inside them, and as the creature talks, it will be obvious that it still has a maw more than a mouth, teeth and teeth and teeth and the dark, grotesque tongue. It still has wickedly sharp, blackened digits ending in claws and the thorns and roses still wind around it, still steeped in shadows. But now, now it also wholly looks like a man.

It is easy to see the resemblance between it and the youth in the coffin, though it is older by a number of years.

[unabatedly]

The sight of the man in the coffin is unnerving, the same sort of still life she'd seen in the foyer that feels like a creeping dread up from her stomach. But turning to look at the creature once more offers up its own kind of terrifying revelation. She could have made the guess that what she'd see was some kind of facsimile of what the creature once was but this... Now she can see the resemblance perfectly, the sinking horror of knowing that this creature was once a man - or had once been a part of a man - and has been twisted beyond all recognition, alone here to lose its memory, its speech, all semblance of its being and to be reduced to what it was in the garden.

And then they had to go and pluck a rose from it. Maker's teeth, how cruel. She could kick herself.

She turns only briefly back to the man in the coffin before her gaze returns to the creature - man? - in front of her. "And so you've been this way for..." Untold amount of time. The flowers offer no indication; if they're magically preserved, it could have been years, decades, even longer. "There's no way for you to turn back?" How would that even work?

[notcharming]

"Turn back into what?" it asks, he asks, spreading his hands slightly. "I... am as I have always been..." there is a hint of a question there, a feeling that he's not wholly certain of that. But he is also the animal in the garden and the creature with the horns and this parody of a man. All of those things are true things. But if he is the same as the person in the coffin, if he has ever been anything other than what he is now, he does not remember it.

"I am the curse," he clarifies, and looks back down into the coffin, "I do not know if that is all that I am. Sometimes, he looks more like me than others. I do not know if that is convenience or artifice or truth. I am the thing keeping him in that coffin. But I do not know if that is a good thing or a bad. If I am a curse, it seems that perhaps he did something to warrant one. If he is imprisoned, perhaps it is better that he not be let loose. I do not know."

"I... think that perhaps I cannot know. Or that it is not for me to know," he looks curiously at her.

[unabatedly]

A shade, then. Or...perhaps a reflection is the better word. And not just a reflection but one that lives and breathes (for lack of a better word) while also being used as the binding that keeps the real body in a kind of stasis. She could think herself into knots trying to find the logic in it or to understand what he is but the end result is the same. He exists as the curse, as man and creature and something in between both, while he watches what he is and is not sleep eternity away.

There are few creatures in this world that she could even hope to name that would have the power to do something like this. She could rationalize there was fickleness to the decision but equally, he could be right; the man in the coffin might be just as dangerous as the magic that keeps him ensorcelled.

Neria lifts a hand to scrub at her forehead. "If I knew his name, I know where I could go to possibly get that answer and that would likely settle the matter." Possibly. The man is young. It's equally likely he'd done nothing to warrant mention in any tome she could think of. "There might be books here, even, or notes or journals to give some indication..." She sighs. "But that is neither here nor there. That sort of endeavor would take a great deal of time." Her pressing questions will have to go unanswered. For another moment, her eyes drift to the sleeping man, then they return to the horned man in front of her.

"You brought me here to repay a debt of blood. What would you have me do?"

[notcharming]

He reaches out and, if she does not flinch away, he will trace a knuckle, surprisingly softly, just under one of her eyes, across the top of a cheekbone,

"What does any curse wish save to be broken?" his voice is quiet, "Would but that I knew how." He has just admitted he does not know if it's actually a good idea to do that, but she has encountered a system and the system rarely cares for the well-being of those it interacts with. "It has been so long... I have waited..." he lets his hand fall away, whether it ever touched her or not, and he turns to look at the door,

"We should leave this place. I will show you the library and somewhere you can rest. Perhaps you will be able to see something I cannot."

[unabatedly]

She doesn't flinch somehow, holds perfectly still, and comes to find that brief touch astoundingly gentle in the same way she'd been surprised that there'd been sinuous texture at all to the bony arm he'd offered before for her to take. For all that he still seems to carry this air of stillness, something bordering on wistful, she's no closer to understanding any of it - or the crux of how to fix what's here, or even if there's something to be done. She only just stops herself from asking, What are you waiting for, and decides not to when he pulls back, turns elsewhere, and she can school her features somewhat to quash down that inquiry but not the next.

"Leave? But I thought--" No, if he doesn't know what to do about the curse, then remaining here doesn't seem necessary...even if she wonders if there isn't more that can be done. He'd said before not to wander here and now she's curious, again, if there is more to this than she can see.

With a single glance spared once more for the young man in the coffin, she finally concedes the moment, and dips her head into a nod. Her feet carry her carefully from the flowerbed that is the floor and across the threshold with him. Without the mana weighing down upon her, it's almost easier to breathe, though the inner core inside of her almost aches from its sudden absence. Her gaze roams the hall, then back to him. "While I can't say I'll find anything you haven't...I'll certainly try." Even if the curse shouldn't be broken, she'd still like to understand why it's in place.

[notcharming]

There is a tension to him that say that he is waiting for something. But then, it's entirely possibly he doesn't know the answer to what that is either. The biggest piece of information that she has so far, at least in terms of something with concrete, definable facts, is that he's clearly pulling himself together from something bestial and barely capable of speech, to an unsettling but elegant host, just with a few minutes in her presence. He seems to come to define himself further based on her-- the things she does and the things she asks, and while it doesn't seem like he's lied about anything, it's possible that he's slowly remembering.

It's unlikely that there's something here that will bear swift fruit-- if nothing else, the physical changes seem much faster than the mental ones-- but it's something, a place to start that isn't just floundering about.

He offers his arm as they exit and he stays unsettlingly human as they do, as he leads her down the hallway and back down the stairs, showing her towards the library.

"I am not certain that I would be able to find anything," he comments and it has the air of being conversational, something to say while they walk, "I imagine it would be a poor curse that would be able to break itself."

[unabatedly]

Her hand settles on his arm as she slowly becomes accustomed more and more to him. Neria's brow furrows in thought, choosing to consider his words rather than become too wrapped up in wondering about him and these changes with every step they take through the hall and then down the stairs. "If a curse is designed to test someone or to teach a lesson, perhaps..." But so rarely would a curse do such a thing. "You are likely correct that something or someone else would need to do so." Which requires too many factors here when it comes to his present state.

Someone would need to have approached the abandoned castle. To try to converse with the creature within and not try to kill it. It would require someone to even remain in its company long enough to understand. The cruelty is the point, even if there is likely a lesson here somewhere. Whether it is a lesson for others to learn about the man in the coffin, that the cure was only a warning and a reflection of that which he is, or if the lesson is for the man himself... That's for her to uncover.

"Have you ever seen writings? Journals, notes, anything he might have left behind? Or something a family member or a member of the house might've imparted before all of this happened?" She could likely ask one of the specters of the halls to simply bring them if she might encounter one but carrying conversation seems...best, she thinks, if it means creating a tether between them. The longer they speak, the more reflective he seems, and the more she can understand. "Likely there's something stored in the library but perhaps also in whatever chambers he used to call his own?"