Histoire
The ghosts of my past fathers call and ask that I impart that which is sacred; the knowledge of the past lives of this house. The butler and his many masters. The maid and her many beds she has made. The cooks and their meals, and the children and their frequent, lasting fantasies. The lives of those who lived here soaked into the walls; I impart their drips of once life, onto you. The one who is to inherit this manor. The swamps stink of mystery and rot; dare you ignore its deeper secrets. The conservatory has an air of a lack of care; it grows freely beyond its boundaries. Vines grow through spaces in the walls, flowers bloom from the dusty floorboards, ferns sprout from between the cracks. The mansion in the mist has many inhabitants still, but there are more than just rats. There are those who walk, stalking memories of their pasts and the heartbeats and adrenaline of those who live. Care must be taken in a house as old as this, for the past here, lives ON. Beware newcomer, beware the unknown; for it THRIVES here, it BREEDS here!