Burgundy walls complimented the polished hardwood floors. A long red rug ran through the lengthy corridor, with gold motifs and embellishments adorning the thick material. From the ceiling hung a chandelier on a gold chain. The frame was made of solid gold, and newly fitted gas lights stood proud atop thin tubes wherein the wires were hidden, and thin crystals dangled from the chandelier's skeleton, other lights reflecting off each one and casting shadows against the walls. Further into the corridor, a considerably sized doorway stood on the right side wall. It stood at around three metres wide, and the door-frame was similar in colour to that of the floors beneath the rug. The floor in the doorway stayed clear of any fabrics, although about half a metre into the room another rug lay. It was of a similar to design to the initial rug, it's wine red material adorned with gold patterns. Another chandelier hung in the centre of the ceiling, larger than the one in the hallway, although still made of a polished gold metal. On the opposite side of the room stood a lit fireplace, it's flames dancing to the melody of a nearby violin player. The fireplace was made of a dove grey stone. A plank of wood settled over the top to create a small shelf, where various trinkets stood. In the centre of the shelf sat an antique clock, it's hands ticking with each second passed, travelling in a monotonous, tiresome circle. Along the remainder of the shelf stood small terracotta pots, each holding a different plant. Paintings hung from every wall, their intricate colourings mesmerising. In the top corner stood a door, this one smaller and the door being closed; this one likely led to the kitchen based off the servants that moved through it carrying platters of entrées.
This home belong to the Caverly family; a mother, father, and their five children. The well furnished home was no stranger to elaborate parties, and guests were quick to accept invitations to them. Compared until the filthy streets of London and their green smog, the cleanliness of the home was favoured by all friends of the family. Samuel Caverly was the eldest of the five children, and the only male besides them all. It hadn't gone unnoticed by the neighbourhood that the young Mr Caverly was no stranger to visitors at the dead of night, especially those of the male gender. Any time he had the house to himself his neighbours would undoubtedly notice a dark figure entering through the back door, partially concealed by the shadows cast by street lamps and the smog. After the first sighting, it hadn't been long until the rumours began to spread. First it was among the men. They had been happy about the news, as many of the women in the area were infatuated with the male and it had proven difficult for the others to find wives. Next it was the parents of young girls, concerned for their fondness towards the blonde male. Finally, after several weeks of rejecting even the thought, the young women began to talk too. When the Caverly family caught wind of the situation after hearing from a passing gaggle of girls, they were quick to bring it to their only son. Of course, the boy execrated the idea, although his nervousness had been clear.
Several hours passed at the party, with the family switching between conversing with guests to checking the kitchen. Unexpectedly, a bell chimed. Guests began to swiftly glide back through the large doorway, filing down the same long corridor to a room at the end. A long dark oak table stood at the centre, with seats for fifteen people along each side and one at each end. Across the table lay a cream tablecloth which reached the ground, concealing the carved legs of the table. More paintings were fixed to the walls, along with a large clock which hung from another fireplace, it's design similar to one found at a train station. One-by-one, servants filed into the room, one for each guest, who simultaneously placed a dish in front of them all. When the lid was lifted, a small portion of a lobster salad was revealed. It's colours were irresistible, mouth-watering, and guests quickly began to indulge themselves with the finest of cooking.
Meal after meal was consumed, and plenty of wine with it. By this point many of the visitants were slightly tipsy, although after years of becoming used to late-Victorian views on morals and behaviour, and being incredibly conscious of their every action the guests were easily able to suppress this. With all the dishes that were consumed, it was almost three hours later before the meal was finally finished. The only son of the family sat at the head of the table, his father on the opposite end. The mother and daughters were spread out among the guests, chatting away while everyone let their food go down. Soon after the servants entered the room again. Having already taken the plates, they now carried glasses of a new wine into the room. Three of the servants remained at the side, two of them holding two glasses each while another held three. After the guests had been given their drinks, the final five were handed out to the hosts. The drink was of a slight purple tint, not fully opaque but still difficult to see through without some altercations to colouring. When held up to the light, the drink became more mulberry.
"To end our evening, how about a toast to our guests?" The eldest of five was stood now, the smile on his face slightly off, as if the boy was hiding something. "To our wonderful guests," he announced, "for the sublime evening we have shared." As the guests lifted their glasses to their lips, his smile grew, but remained unnoticed. While they poured the salty beverage down their throats, the son allowed his to falter slightly. He dropped a leaf from the table centrepieces into the crystal glasses, watching as it's skin peeled away from the stem and began decaying, rotting into the drink and turning it a murky green-brown. A flash of lightning sounded. Rain began pounding heavily against the window panes, water streaking down like waterfalls. Almost on cue, the faces of everyone besides the family became greyed with fog. Their mouths turned dry as their body's turned to deserts, eyes turning bloodshot while their pupils dilate. Coughing ensued quickly, blood splattering across hands and the linen tablecloth, staining the once pure material. Whist the rest reached their deathbed, the son began to chuckle gently, until he caught sight of his youngest sister spouting blood. He stood immediately. This wasn't the plan. They were meant to stay safe! The table thudded at the contact of a heavy fist, the boy's screams joining those of the condemned. The oak chair clattered to the ground as he rushed forward, his family watching on in horror. He reached her in time, able to catch her limp falling body before it hit the ground. For several moments he just stared down at her blood smeared face, before falling to his knees, cradling her in his arms as he cried softly. The gentle sobbing turned to wails which resonated off each wall, his mental fortitude collapsing in a single second.
After the party, neighbours stopped talking about Mr Caverly's visitors; the shadowed figures had stopped visiting soon after the boy was removed from the family, deemed insane by the doctors in the area and sent to an institution where he would receive help. He had been driven mad by the traumatic death of his sister, ostracised by his remaining family members for both his slip up and the surreptitious scheme. The home was no longer no stranger to parties. Its floors had become scuffed, and cobwebs hung from the doorways and chandeliers.
