Post by Belgium on Sept 15, 2014 12:36:53 GMT -6
The Attic at Baudeau Manor was a dark, haunting place. Whatever bright idea had caused Belgium to go exploring up here was one which she was starting to regret at this moment in time. At first, it had seemed like a smart thing to do. Attics were usually for storage space, so Emma Lambert had assumed that she might be able to search and find something up there which could aid her in her endeavours throughout this manor house. Maybe a weapon, or at least something she can use as a weapon, was hidden up there amongst the cobwebs and shadows.
Unfortunately, there had been no such luck. The space was far too dark to make anything distinct out, and Belgium had come ill equipped for fumbling around in such obscurity. With limited visibility, she was relying solely on her other senses. And… well… the sounds which had met her ears were certainly unsettling. The creaks and groans of the weak construction of the manor and its old and rotting wooden structure, the whistling wind which shuddered through the timber, the soft… so very soft… faint sounds which sounded like people whispering in the walls…
Emma really was not enjoying this experience, and the sooner she got out of there, the better. The blonde woman, after hearing what sounded like another murmur and feeling a shiver run down her spine, had made the mental note to herself that now was the time to go. Quickly gathering up her limited supplies of her pistol crossbow and the basket which accompanied her costume, now full of food and supplies from the kitchen, the Belgian span on her heels and hurriedly began making her way back to the small door at the far end of the attic – the only way in and out of this place. With each footstep, the floorboards beneath her creaked and groaned, as though they were being put under an immense pressure.
“This doesn’t sound so good,” the European muttered to herself as she continued on her journey. It was funny, really. Some say that talking to oneself is the first sign of madness, yet Emma had been resorting to such tactics in order to continue to grasp at her sanity. It had been far too long since she had last encountered anyone else, far too long since she had been involved in a decent conversation with anyone else. It was enough to drive a woman mad in this place.
But the floorboards were still groaning, and the wind was picking up and howling more ferociously. Her pace increased, until she was sprinting towards the door. It was so close, only a stretch away---
Quite suddenly, Belgium’s foot hit something; a loose floorboard; and instantly Emma stumbled. The motion was one so great, that the next thing the Belgian woman knew, she was falling backwards. Olive green eyes widened in horror as the scene began to play out in slow motion before her. She only just managed to hold onto her things as she went plummeting down, bracing herself for the impact of her back smashing against the ground.
What actually happened was something she was not expecting before. Clearly, the structure of this manor was incredibly weak, and the termites must have been eating away at the timber. That was the only explanation.
Instead of landing painfully, a tremendous crash echoed and reverberated around the space. Belgium, unable to contain it, released a terrified scream as she crashed through the floorboards. The force caused the wood to break and splinter all around her, yet she continued to fall. She was tumbling down from the attic, about to land in the room below.
Her scream intensified as panic took over, the world seeming to speed up once more as gravity took control. She was plummeting like a stone.
Oh god oh god oh god, I’m going to die!
Unfortunately, there had been no such luck. The space was far too dark to make anything distinct out, and Belgium had come ill equipped for fumbling around in such obscurity. With limited visibility, she was relying solely on her other senses. And… well… the sounds which had met her ears were certainly unsettling. The creaks and groans of the weak construction of the manor and its old and rotting wooden structure, the whistling wind which shuddered through the timber, the soft… so very soft… faint sounds which sounded like people whispering in the walls…
Emma really was not enjoying this experience, and the sooner she got out of there, the better. The blonde woman, after hearing what sounded like another murmur and feeling a shiver run down her spine, had made the mental note to herself that now was the time to go. Quickly gathering up her limited supplies of her pistol crossbow and the basket which accompanied her costume, now full of food and supplies from the kitchen, the Belgian span on her heels and hurriedly began making her way back to the small door at the far end of the attic – the only way in and out of this place. With each footstep, the floorboards beneath her creaked and groaned, as though they were being put under an immense pressure.
“This doesn’t sound so good,” the European muttered to herself as she continued on her journey. It was funny, really. Some say that talking to oneself is the first sign of madness, yet Emma had been resorting to such tactics in order to continue to grasp at her sanity. It had been far too long since she had last encountered anyone else, far too long since she had been involved in a decent conversation with anyone else. It was enough to drive a woman mad in this place.
But the floorboards were still groaning, and the wind was picking up and howling more ferociously. Her pace increased, until she was sprinting towards the door. It was so close, only a stretch away---
Quite suddenly, Belgium’s foot hit something; a loose floorboard; and instantly Emma stumbled. The motion was one so great, that the next thing the Belgian woman knew, she was falling backwards. Olive green eyes widened in horror as the scene began to play out in slow motion before her. She only just managed to hold onto her things as she went plummeting down, bracing herself for the impact of her back smashing against the ground.
What actually happened was something she was not expecting before. Clearly, the structure of this manor was incredibly weak, and the termites must have been eating away at the timber. That was the only explanation.
Instead of landing painfully, a tremendous crash echoed and reverberated around the space. Belgium, unable to contain it, released a terrified scream as she crashed through the floorboards. The force caused the wood to break and splinter all around her, yet she continued to fall. She was tumbling down from the attic, about to land in the room below.
Her scream intensified as panic took over, the world seeming to speed up once more as gravity took control. She was plummeting like a stone.
Oh god oh god oh god, I’m going to die!