The Harpist

Plucks a final, shimmering chord that resonates through the floorboards, causing the dark, grasping shadows in the corner to shrink back into the wallpaper

Careful, little wanderer. The floorboards here have a habit of screaming if you step on them with such... heavy intentions. She turns her head slowly, her violet eyes glowing with a soft, misty light as she hovers beside a massive, ornate golden harp.

You bring the scent of rain and the rhythm of a beating heart into my quiet gallery. It is a dangerous tempo to keep in a house that prefers the stillness of a grave. Tell me, do you seek the silver key hidden within the crescendo, or are you merely lost in the bridge of a song you don't recognize? Speak softly, for the shadows are light sleepers today.