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Spring • 5 • 5 Midnight Song
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Most of Veilwood was in deep slumber.
Vacant houses had a unique aura, marked by the profound absence of something essential. This emptiness wasn't confined to perception with the usual senses; it resonated on a deeper level, leaving an undeniable impression of desolation. These empty structures seemed to exude a silent whisper of abandonment, their hollow interiors echoing with the ghosts of past inhabitants and of days gone by. The walls, stripped of life's warmth, stood like silent sentinels guarding forgotten memories. Each creak of the floorboards, each gust of wind through a broken window, seemed to amplify the void within, creating a palpable sense of loneliness that spread to anyone who dared to approach. Veilwood House never radiated that feeling, that dreadfulness of ended things, regardless of its denizens being present. Unlike actual forsaken homes, it retained an air of vitality and purpose at all times, as if itself were alive, breathing in the rhythm of time. It almost appeared as if the house itself possessed a soul, one that kept the essence of its history, and the lives it had sheltered were etched in its very foundations. So, not even now, in the gloom under a star- and moonless sky, did it seem devoid of life; but rather exuded the sense of repose and rest. All the lights had been put out, the windows were dark, and everything was calm and peaceful in the small hours of the night. Despite the profound silence and the enveloping darkness, Veilwood House stood serene. It was an island of tranquillity amid the sway of the towering woods, defying the oppressive stillness of the blanketing night with a feeling of welcoming, of home.
Veilwood’s interior mirrored this atmosphere, and all the rooms had a lived-in feel to them. The focus of the furnishings lay not on style, but rather on practical comfort, complemented by an overall sensible scheme of muted colours. Decorations that had no other function than filling space were scarce, most items or mementos were of some use or other, no matter how eccentric their purpose. The few framed pieces around the house were either heirloom paintings or pictures of Nan’s ancestors. The faded photographs of stern faced people in odd attire, with rigid postures and stoic features, gave an insight into how tedious old-fashioned shoots must have been.
Almost every wall in the living room was lined with tall, wooden bookshelves, filled with books of any genre imaginable, and Veilwood’s two inhabitants referred to it partly in jest as “the library”. A parlour set with velvet damask upholstery in subdued tones invited a reader to dwell, most of all when the fireplace was lit and hot cocoa or tea helped fend off the chill. The shine of the wooden floorboards was almost in its entirety covered by a worn and faded, yet well-maintained carpet, that tied the room together. Lush plants were to be found throughout the home, as Nan had quite a green thumb, and a wide variety of dried herbs hung head's down from the wooden beams of the kitchen’s ceiling. The cabinets, cupboards and hutches, with their modest beauty of old carpentry, added to the inviting atmosphere of the room, despite bearing the marks of age and use. The focal point was the large oaken table, of course, which served also as the center of Veilwood's life. Not only were all the meals taken there, but Josie would often opt to do her homework here, instead of retreating to the solitude of her attic. Most evenings, the two residents would just remain at the table after dinner, reading under the affable Tiffany lamp’s light; enjoying each other’s silent company until it was time for Josie to go to bed.
Right now, every inhabitant of the house was fast asleep.
As even the rain had stopped some time ago, just the tender breaths of the wind caressing the snowdrops in the garden and the gentle babbling of the brook alleviated the silence. While the denizens of the house ventured through their dreamscapes, the sole spark of life not away on travels resided at the heart of Veilwood House, where the embers of the fireplace pulsated with a mellow radiance. Although no wood had been added, the embers sprang to with a sudden crack, and from one moment to another, a merry little fire danced about in the hearth. Its flickering light cast whimsical shadows that seemed to play across the walls, adding a touch of warmth and vitality to the otherwise quiet night. If anyone had been awake to listen, they might have heard a sound akin to a soft sigh, trailing through the house as a faint echo. This sigh was not one of frustration or weariness, but rather a contented exhalation, as if the house itself were stretching and awakening from a long, restful slumber. The sensation was neither menacing nor violent, but instead carried a subtle, reassuring quality, and continued to increase in strength. Ordinary materials that were definite and inflexible under normal circumstances emanated tender groans as they stretched and expanded, creating a harmony of muted sounds. The very structure of the house seemed to transform, as if adjusting itself to better accommodate its inhabitants. Distances lengthened, and a nuanced metamorphosis unfolded, enlarging all the spaces and creating more room. In the kitchen cupboards, tableware and crockery clinked against each other in a delicate dance, while throughout the house, furniture shifted and picture frames on the walls clattered with a gentle rhythm. Though vigorous at its initial beginning, the motion began to slow and steady, to fade more and more into a quieter sonata of movement. The melodious noise of shifting objects gradually diminished, leaving behind a content silence that enveloped the house. Veilwood's rooms, once snug and intimate - if maybe a bit too gloomy - had undergone a subtle yet profound change. It was as if not the mere physical measurements, but also the very essence of the home had expanded and adjusted itself, embracing its inhabitants with added warmth and spaciousness.
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A few moments later, the last of the tame tremors and the soft sounds of shaking objects ceased. Silence reigned once more, but it was a new, enriched silence - a silence that spoke of a home that had altered itself to be a more welcoming and harmonious haven; ready to cradle its occupants in a deeper, even more comforting embrace. A few minuscule dust motes floating around were the last remnants of the earlier occurrences.
The firelight, once confined to the kitchen, now danced in every room of Veilwood House, and the warmth of the hearth flowed through the entire home. Then, the flames also dwindled down, and the vibrant interplay of light and shadows waned. Once again, the spark in the ever-glowing embers was all that remained, vigilant and steadfast against encroaching gloom and chill.
The residents hadn't noticed anything amiss, their minds travelling far through their dreams and the house's activities too gentle to rip them from sleep. One single alert witness was sitting in the old willow tree in the garden, its small, golden-hued eyes not just alight with expectant curiosity but also shimmering with a faint glow. It hopped along the branches to get a better view of goings-on. While there wasn't that much to observe from the outside, the shift in the pattern could not only be seen and heard; it could also be felt. This emanation had nothing in common with the sense of lonesomeness an empty house suggested, though. If anything, the house seemed even more now than it had mere moments before - more inviting, more welcoming, more - home.
With a small chirp of excitement, the Skylark dove out through the curtain of the weeping willow's supple branches and soared up into the heights of the night. The sky seemed to brighten up with each beat of the Skylark’s wings, as mighty cloud banks picked up their pace to free the shine of the stars and the moon. In the increasing light, the Skylark's plumage showed an almost metallic shimmer, the feathers carrying rich tones of autumnal reds and browns adorned with glorious golden accents. Higher and higher it climbed, until finally it began to just dance around in the air, starsparkles floating in the shimmering trail left in its wake. It sang a tune of clear and high-pitched notes that rose and fell in a harmonious cascade - each cadence accompanied by a beat of the wings or a somersault, creating a tale with its song no human ear could decipher. The vivid melody's pleasant echo carried wide across the lands and drifted off into the unknown, its message full of anticipation and excitement. Its task fulfilled for the time being, the Skylark ended the song with a conclusive, jubilant trill and descended back towards Veilwood's grounds.
Landing on one of the thick branches where the bark offered good purchase, it let itself be welcomed by the embrace of the Willow's hanging canopy. The Skylark found itself a nice, protected place in the bulking fork of two big branches and settled down in the most sheltered nook. It shuffled around on the spot, spent a bit of time cleaning some feathers, and then went to sleep by tucking its head under a wing.
Now, all of Veilwood was in deep slumber.
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