❝If there was one thing Anthony Lockwood was afraid of, it would be Carolynne Blair Lynch's pure, mere, terrifying beauty.❞
𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭? Perhaps a day that didn't go your way so now you'd...
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𝐈𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐧𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤, she'd probably be able to tell you how her breath became visible right before her eyes. Other light burned from deep below the hatch, combining with the faint glow distant ghost lamp outside, creating a small light to the new room.
An attic, that was obvious.
Still, Carolynne felt the strength of the source pulling her up. Was it on the bloody roof?
They weren't alone there either, that was also obvious. Carolynne felt the pressure of it's presence, pushing down on her in the dark. It's suffocating hold made it hard for her to breathe and left her paralysed, glued where she stood.
She heard the rustling at her side before a golden glow lit the room up, it's warmth swelled and attempted to fight back the harshness of the psychic charge. Lockwood had been the first to fight back with fire.
The attic that they found themselves in was a cavernous space, broad at its base, and rising into darkness beneath the eaves of a steeply pitched roof. There were old brick gables at either end, one with chimneys built in, and one pierced by a single tall but narrow window. Great crossbeams spanned the shadows high above them, supporting the weight of the roof.
A few broken tea chests lay in one corner. Otherwise the room was empty. There was nothing there. Unless you really looked. Cobwebs hung like hammocks between the rafters, thick, gray and heavy, like ceiling drapes in an Arabian bazaar. Where the rooflines hit the floor, they were piled in drifts, plugging the corners, softening the edges of the abandoned room. Threads of webbing dangled from the crossbeams, twitching in the little air currents their activities had stirred.
