The Castle of Countless Compositions
You wander along a narrow forest path. Bone-thin twigs and withered vegetation crunch out somber melodies underfoot, while owls offer soulful serenades to murky skies that threaten rain at any moment. Willow trees bent by time reach down with brittle branches at every breath of wind, seeming to whisper promises to shelter you if conditions worsen, as they have been unable to do for any traveler in many years. It has been more than an hour since you left the closest town, Haven, where older residents tell of an abandoned castle deep in Curlicue Woods found by following a ghost cat said to appear right as the sun dips beyond the distant mountain ranges. The history of the castle and its residents is unknown, and its possible existence only came to light in recent years, thanks to a brief footnote found within an old book archived in the Haven Library. Since then, no one has dared to follow the cat—except for you. Your guide is a translucent creature formed as if from the same fog that starts to swirl about your ankles more and more, as you venture deeper and deeper into the darkness. He glides on ahead like a will-of-the-wisp, his head and tail held high, but pauses at certain points to glance over his shoulder with luminous eyes as if to make sure you are still behind him. Squirrels, mice, and other smaller wildlife scatter in his wake.At last, the trees recede—although the fog increases—to expose trellised gates covered in ivy, and beyond them, a large stone structure that one could easily mistake for an enormous mausoleum in the dimness. Lightning rakes the skies, accompanied by a sharp explosion of thunder, which illuminates an old stone castle covered in vines, at least three stories high, with many windows and turrets topped by turquoise flags. A rusty iron plate hangs on the front gate, and its words read, “Castle Haven: Guests Welcome.”The ghost cat is unperturbed by all the commotion. He watches you as you take in the setting, then slips past the ajar entry gate, over the remains of a desiccated lawn, and up a set of rickety steps to a porch area. He disappears through the front mahogany doors, which you manage to open after a great deal of effort. As you cross the threshold, a cacophony of whispers echo through the air: “The door is open. someone must have opened the doors that someone must be a guest …and more than one someone …they are guests.”Meanwhile, the fog from outside seems to follow you right into what appears to be a lengthy hallway, seeping over a threadbare carpet and past cracked vases atop pedestals, opposite what appear to be stained glass windows—although they are gray and opaque. The light in the room comes from bright candles in scones at intermittent points along the hall, at the end of which another wooden door is visible, albeit more rugged in appearance than the front doors. The whispers continue, growing louder: “If there are guests I must act as a proper hostess to act as a proper hostess I must make introductions …in my own way.”The front doors close behind you. As the whispers fade away, the fog in front of you swirls upwards into the figure of a woman. She gazes at you with eyes that are twin points of bright light. Her hair is tied up into a tight bun at the back of her head, she wears an apron reminiscent of a maid or servant, and the bottom of her dress merges with the fogbank. She curtsies and speaks in a single, calm voice: “Welcome to Castle Haven, my guests. I am Lucia Brume, and it has been a long time since any outsiders dared to set foot within the grounds of this place, which drew me with its forlorn whispers and regrets. Forgotten residences, losing their own identities a little more each day, are sad things in need of care. Additionally, this one seems almost familiar…” She trails off, gazing around the corridor, and then gives a sigh that makes the candleflames dance atop their wicks. “In any event, I cannot ignore its cries, so I must act as its caretaker and reestablish some sort of order. Perhaps then it will at last find peace. However, it is a difficult task for one soul to do alone, especially as my own memory is somewhat fragmented.”Lucia Brume shakes her head. “As such, I asked my companion, The Spectral Cat, to look for visitors to come and assist me in bringing Castle Haven back to life, in a manner of speaking. Isn’t that right, Spectral?” An indifferent mewl comes from near one of the pedestals. The Spectral cat lays stretched out on his side, amid a cleaning session. Lucia Brume chuckles. “I hope you will be kind enough to lend a helping hand, my guests, and maybe we will learn about each other in the process. For example, do you see those stained-glass windows?” A swirl of fog encircles the three windows along the wall. “Although I have thoroughly cleaned them, their original images have faded over time. But I would so love to know what images you would choose. I have little imagination,” she falters, “and this old castle might just react to your ideas and recall its past.” **************************************All the suggestions made for the illustrations in the windows echoes throughout the forlorn hallway like gentle music. You sense an easing of tension in the atmosphere, as if the entire castle has released a long-held breath, growing more comfortable in your presence. Lucia Brume sighs, drifting through the air with her eyes closed and head bowed. She murmurs, “Clearly, Spectral made the perfect choice in leading you here, my guests.” She twists to face the windows, covered by the fog in a similar fashion to a curtain drawn across a stage. “Castle Haven calls you ‘Kindred Spirits,’ as you seem to possess a remarkable power to glimpse its past, in your own special ways. Yes, most remarkable, indeed.” Light fills the frames from an unknown source, and the fog clears to reveal three detailed illustrations.The first picture on the far left shows a young, auburn-haired woman with lavender eyes seated on a chair situated in a verdant flower garden. She wears a dress the hue of chestnuts, and a heart-shaped locket around her neck bears the picture of a butterfly with star patterns on its wings, in a kind of family crest. Butterflies feature prominently in the garden as well, flitting about in great numbers— colorful and peaceful among the large blooms. An opened book of fairytales hangs suspended above the young woman’s lap, wrapped in a light magical aura the same color as her eyes. Lucia Brume approaches the window. “Dorothea Mariposa,” she breathes, translating the whispers of Castle Haven. “She grew up here, born to noble parents held in high regard by the fairies of Curlicue Woods, and perhaps it was from them that she learned so much about the forest, its inhabitants, and the wonders of magic—although she was often alone. There was only one exception.” she shudders as if from a sudden chill, lifting her thin fingers towards a figure who stands behind the chair where Dorothea sits, his hands resting upon her shoulders.A young man with fair hair and emerald eyes.“Lucas Bartimaeus.” Lucia Brume speaks this name so softly that no one, aside from you as readers, would hear her properly. “Her childhood friend… where have I seen him before? Perhaps in the forest?” She cocks her head while studying his image. Then she shudders as if from a sudden chill, drawing back. “It must be the emotions of this castle, for I feel quite strange. Please excuse me for a minute, my guests, I must collect my thoughts.” With that, she disappears into the fog. It seems as if you have been left without any guidance, until The Spectral Cat mewls to get your attention. He saunters forward to rub his body against the central stained-glass window, which presents a sleek, dark cat with midnight blue eyes, captured as if in the middle of stalking through the forest underbrush. Hints of fellow felines peer through and poke out from the shadows. Although a simple image, it is as if the cat follows you with her gaze regardless of where you are in the hallway. She wears a collar that bears the same symbol of a butterfly with star patterns as on Dorothea Mariposa’s necklace. “Nyx.” Lucia Brume surprises you from behind, although her voice is still a little unsteady. “The Spectral Cat’s grandmother was well-known for her mysterious but authoritative nature. According to Castle Haven, there were legends of her wisdom and great magical prowess, to the point where other cats bowed to her in passing. She seems to have been a great leader for them, and she was good friends with Dorothea Mariposa’s parents.” Lucia Brume turns to The Spectral Cat. “You have always been unaccountably quiet on the subject, but perhaps you would confess now, in the presence of our guests, whether or not you are a leader to the local cats like your grandmother?” However, The Spectral Cat simply frisks his tail, yawns, and wanders away down the hall towards the wooden door at the end. Lucia Brume watches him leave in obvious irritation. “I would beg you to pardon Spectral, my guests” she apologizes. “Sometimes he can behave so—” she flickers bright red for a second, “—rudely towards others. Well, I suppose are better off without him for now anyway. As for the last window…” she falls silent again. The third illustration shows a golden-haired child in a light green dress, with bright lavender eyes, hugging an old gray cat. She appears to be standing in the same garden as Dorothea and Lucas, with just as many butterflies, although there are also several teddy bears, dolls, and other toys shown in different poses around her, such as if amid miniature tea parties or dancing. They shimmer with the same magical aura as the book had for Dorothea. “Sweet Little Penny,” Lucia Brume says in an odd, level tone, hardly glancing at the illustration but keeping her whole attention focused on you. “She was, as you can surely guess, the daughter of Dorothea Mariposa and Lucas Bartimaeus, and quite adept in magic. Castle Haven tells me she used to have many toys given to her by another friend of the family, a toymaker who used to travel all the way out to Curlicue Woods for visits. What was his name?” She pauses. “It seems that fact has even eluded this old castle, after so many years.” Turning away abruptly, Lucia Brume sweeps towards the door at the end of the hall. “Well, I must thank you, my guests, for helping to restore the stained-glass windows. Castle Haven seems a bit more peaceful now, although I can sense we have only begun to heal whatever caused it to fall into despair in the first place. And I cannot tolerate so much disorder and unkempt—” A sudden burst of loud, indiscernible whispers drowns out the rest of her sentence, which in their own turn get overwhelmed by childish laughter. The image of Penny shimmers, and somewhere beyond the doors, you hear objects thudding against a stone floor from a great height, followed by several crashes, and the sharp sound of glass shattering. Silence—broken only by the faint strains of a music box music playing. Lucia Brume listens, humming along to the melody, and murmurs a line from it, “Just like me, they long to be, close to you…” The song ebbs away. She glides over and opens the door, and you follow her into a large lobby. A sweeping staircase dominates the room, with cat statues perched at the bottom of both banisters, positioned as if sitting up on their haunches and holding lanterns, atop which butterflies rest. Pattering sounds drum out a tune overhead, and turning your eyes skyward, you see a great glass dome against which the rainfall comes down from the murky skies. Painted portraits hang on the walls of the young couple with their daughter, in various types of attire, and even several that feature Nyx, the gray cat from the windows, and other animals. A mahogany table with high-backed chairs stands near a fireplace, with the glass sculpture of a dragon with large, butterfly wings placed at its center. Rooms branch off from the lobby, with at least three on the ground floor. You can see plates beside each of the doorways: Kitchen, Parlor, and Library. But upstairs, there are doubtless many more rooms to explore. However, you must absorb these sights with your own readerly insights because Lucia Brume is too agitated to describe any of them. Her foggy form glows bright red—for scattered across the floor are toys, from plush animals, to dolls, to wind up mice, to marionettes. They lay at awkward angles everywhere, and a few of them have apparently fallen atop vases and other figurines that were on sideboards, causing them to smash onto the floor. One such doll, for example, must have narrowly missed striking the crystalline dragon on the table, a doll with golden locks and wide eyes. After taking many steadying breaths, Lucia Brume turns back to you. Even then, it is clear she is struggling to remain calm. “While your very presence seems to have helped revitalize the room, my dear guests, it seems that we might have awakened something must deeper within Castle Haven—something which has caused a terrible mess. A mess to which I must attend. Spectral!” The call is like a sonic boom, causing the pictures to rattle in their frames, punctuated by a lightning flash above the dome. Uncharacteristically, perhaps, The Spectral Cat appears at once beside you in the room. He sits prim and proper, with his tail tucked around his front paws, unfazed by the barely contained fury on Lucia Brume’s face as she says, “Would you care to take our guests to one of the other rooms on this floor while I clean up this devastation?” The Spectral Cat stares at her, unblinking, before he turns his stare on you. The question in his eyes is clear enough.**************************************All the possible rooms to explore off the lobby promise so much excitement that votes ring out for the library, the parlor, and the kitchen in equal measure. Meanwhile, it is as if you can hear whispers from behind each of the doors, made by unknown entities eager for live guests to discover what they have to offer. The Spectral Cat listens to the suggestions, frisking his tail and whiskers from side to side. He gazes at you in pensive silence for such a long time that Lucia Brume pauses in the middle of gathering the scattered toys within foggy tendrils. The edge of her mouth tweaks upwards in obvious amusement. “What is the matter, Spectral?” she asks. “Are you already at a loss as to the best way to handle this situation for our guests? I suppose it is not so easy to act as a guide sometimes, especially when you are wont to be discourteous.” If this jab offends The Spectral Cat in any way, he fails to show it. Instead, he replies through a series of low mewls and burbles, which—from the surprise that darts across her face—Lucia Brume understands only too well. “You are as mad as Wonderland’s Cheshire Cat sometimes!” she declares. “How could you possibly ask to show our guests all three of the rooms they would like to see at the same time? It is out of the question, even worse than—” Load, echoing groans interrupt her. The whole of Castle Haven jerks amid a sudden quake, and next the worn stonework visibly ripples, while the individual blocks shift about. Portraits go flying from their places on the walls. Lucia Brume moves swift as wind gusts to catch them, and the faces of the toys in her tendrils light up with mischievous delight at all the chaos erupting around you. The figurines that had remained undisturbed in their places suffer the same fate, juddering into the air and requiring a fast-paced rescue that highlights the reach and prehensile nature of the fog controlled by your main incorporeal host. For several minutes, this wild scene continues, and it is a wonder the old house somehow keeps from collapsing in on itself—although you do notice flickers of magic sparkling between the cracks. Violet sparkles. And the three doors to the different rooms slide across the walls towards each other, at first slowly, but then faster and faster until you are sure that at any second you will hear a sharp splintering of wood when they crash into each other. Except the doors do not crash into each other. They merge into each other to create a single rosewood door etched with designs of flowers and butterflies, further ornamented by a diamond doorknob in the shape of a seashell. “Of course, Castle Haven does have a say in the matter as well,” Lucia Brume murmurs. The Spectral Cat gives Lucia Brume a self-satisfied nod before trotting over to the new door. He tabs the knob with the tip of his tail, and as it turns you think that you hear the brief sound of an ocean wave crashing against a shore. It clashes a bit with the creak of the door as it opens, where the faint strains of Canon D played slowly wafts out. Stepping inside, you see a parlor complete with brocaded sofas, footstools, and a crystalline coffee table upon which rests a chess set. Opened doorways to either side of the room clearly lead, at a brief glance, to the library and the kitchen. The Spectral Cat strides along the contours of the parlor, past a small bookcase that holds thick, aged volumes and ships in bottles, and brushes along a stand with an antique photograph resting upon it. He meows to draw your attention to photographs framed on the wall, containing scenes which move in brief loops—such as an image showing Lucas Bartimaeus sitting on one of the couches with his arm around Dorothea Mariposa, while Little Penny rolls a ball of yarn across the floor, trying to get an old gray cat sprawled half-asleep on his side to play with her. Another photograph depicts Lucas Bartimaeus levitating pieces from a chess board placed on the coffee table with the greenish tint of his own magic, concentrating hard to win against his daughter, who (from what you can tell) is winning. Yet another picture appears to have been taken amid a holiday celebration, complete with a decorated pine tree in one corner and presents in various stages of unwrapping on the floor. However, the figure highlighted in this photograph is a rotund, white-whiskered gentleman with wire-rimmed spectacles, dressed in a green vest and red suspenders, shown working on a scarecrow-like automaton seated at the grand piano, chatting to Little Penny all the while. Even now, the automaton sits hunched at the grand piano. He wears a tuxedo, but a straw hat, and is playing Canon D slowly and sadly as The Spectral Cat hops onto the bench. You see wording etched into the piano above the keys, “Maestro’s Piano,” and can guess that this figure is indeed Maestro. A book of sheet music lays open on its small stand, showing a version of Canon D filled with marks as to the notes and other finer points of playing the lesson. You glimpse a note penciled towards the top of the page, “Penny’s Lesson Today,” including a date smudged and worn away by time. Maestro runs the tips of his well-crafted, gloved fingers across the note, then turns to you. His face reminds you of a clay sculpture, detailed, without eyes or the ability to open his mouth, but with just enough depth of expression to reveal his furrowed brow and the worry lines around his mouth—although they ease a bit at the sight of an audience. He even manages a smile as he picks up the tempo of his Canon D and treats you to a fine performance of it. Once the final notes fade away, Maestro picks up and hands you the book of sheet music. You find that by thinking of a specific tune, the book will automatically flip to the appropriate page for it. The automaton musician looks hopeful:[Please respond in the comments with the song you would love to hear Maestro play on the piano]Afterwards, Maestro reaches over to stroke The Spectral Cat along his back. The Spectral Cat tolerates the attention, then he leaps off the bench and strides away tail upright and crooked at the tip. You follow him, aware that Maestro has straightened in his seat and continues to watch as you cross the threshold into the library, which is much larger than it had at first appeared. Books line the walls on shelves that stretch further than your arms can reach, which makes the rolling ladders quite valuable. Comfortable armchairs and reading desks invite you to relax with a good read, while a staircase leads up to a second floor filled with even more volumes to explore. Glass lamps shaped like upside tulips offer up a perfect amount of illumination. There are flying books. Reluctant to stay in one place, or perhaps just eager to feel the freedom of their open, fluttering pages, they glide through the air like happy birds who dance about each other. There are also the cats. It takes a moment to notice them, since they are so unobtrusive and stealthy. But as you stroll through the room after The Spectral Cat, they creep out from behind chairs and the stairs, from shadowed nooks between shelves, and even down from the upper floor. Many of them look like the kind of felines one might find wandering around the streets of a regular town, with some better groomed or scruffier than others. A few cats, however, are akin to The Spectral Cat in that they seem to embody the very elements themselves; some of them are ghostly and lay curled among the books, while others are more like flames, water, ice, and even electricity in the shape of cats. None of the elementals hurt or cause you any discomfort as they rub against your legs. The cats and the books draw closer to your group of guests, encircling and watching you—waiting.[Time to enjoy time at the Castle Heaven Library! Please describe in the comments what book you would love to read, and what also kind of cat you would love to have keeping you company while you do so].Eventually, The Spectral Cat stalks toward the door again and brings you along—even as the cats and books flutter around and gaze longingly after you. Maestro waves at you on the way through the parlor towards the kitchen. The kitchen is larger than much larger than the parlor yet less spacious than the library. You see crockpots, pans, and other equipment stacked neatly along the counters, utensils hanging from pegs on the walls (including sizeable knives of every shape and size in one corner), and pots bubbling on the stoves. Aromas sweep forward in delightful waves the moment you step over the threshold, and The Spectral Cat hops atop a counter near the large sink, where one of the basins brims with soapy water. A chef’s hat shoots into the sight with a noise like a cork popping out of a wine bottle, while a broad apron shaped as if wrapped around an invisible body dangles underneath. You spot a large black mustache in the space between the two pieces of clothing. Words on the apron read, “Mario Fettuccini Rules the Kitchen,” and upheld in one hand is a frypan. This specter moves so quickly that it startles even The Spectral Cat, who slips into the soapy water, some of which sloshes over the side and onto the tiled floor. With a screech, The Spectral Cat leaps out of the water, dripping and smelling of freshly fallen rain, before he leaps to the floor and dashes into the darkness under one of the counters. Mario’s apron bobs up and down in mirth. Turning to you, he removes his hat and bows. Then he whistles. Several aprons hanging under what appear to be toupees bob up into view, and they salute the head chef with gloved hands. Mario points his frypan towards a table set up towards the far end of the room, and his helps guide you over to one of the chairs around it, making sure to pull out the chairs and ensure you are comfortably seated. One of the unseen assistants hands you a menu. As with Maestro’s sheet music book, whatever meal comes to mind appears on it.[You are getting treated to a feast that consists of anything you can imagine. In the comments, alongside the music you want Maestro to play, and the book you want to read accompanied by a specific cat, please include the meal you would like to enjoy.]--------------The exact amount of time that passes among the above pleasures is unknown. Maestro makes his agile fingers dance across the piano keys to produce one vibrant melody after another, while quivering with excitement at the opportunity to play for a live audience again. Cats lounge around the library in quiet contentment, and books flit about just overhead like invitations to delve into whatever stories they want to share. Meanwhile, Mario and his fellow invisible chefs perform an elaborate dance in preparing a wide array of culinary masterpieces for your whole group, pulling items from cupboards and pantries that magically carry and never run short of the ingredients needed for each dish. The three rooms are so lively, it is as if the residents have been waiting specifically for you to arrive—a point further emphasized by the surprise that blossoms across the face of your foggy hostess when she slips into the parlor. “My gracious, dear guests,” she gasps, eyes widening, “what enchantment have you cast on these rooms?” Lucia Brume glances at Maestro, who gives her a courteous nod of the head, then at Mario and his cooking crew, who doff their hats to her, and then at the cats, who burble out a greeting. “All three of them were quiet and vacant when I first saw them, a short time before your arrival. Your very presence must have animated them and drawn out these inhabitants, much like a fond memory. This place is full of memories. They are starting to confuse even me, since they have the odd quality of seeming so familiar.” The idea makes her shudder, and she glances down at a golden object clutched in her hand, connected to a chain that dangles down. Several strands of her hair bun have come undone. Lucia Brume also looks surprised at the photographs on the walls, which she tells you used to be obscured in the same way as the stained-glass windows. “Such a happy family, and that rotund gentleman.” Foggy tendrils indicate the white-whiskered man shown as having built Maestro at his piano. “I believe that I recognize him now, from stories heard whispered about Curlicue Woods. His name is Mr. Gimble, an itinerant toymaker, although it has been many years since he last appeared anywhere near here. Or, at least,” she hesitates, “at a time before I wandered this area. I cannot recall anything before then. Isn’t it strange, then, that I can recall his name now, even though I never heard it said?” As she ponders this point, Maestro starts to play a slow waltz on the piano, and a few of the cats from the library hop onto the bench beside him, swinging their bodies to the rhythm. The object in her hand shimmers. The Spectral Cat slips from the kitchen, padding up to Lucia Brume and mewling gently. “Oh, Casper,” Lucia Brume murmurs, her voice seeming to echo, “Penny always did want to see the shop Mr. Gimble wanted to establish up north, and his—” She breaks off, suddenly confused, and drops the object. It thuds against the carpet, a locket with the initials “D + L” inscribed upon the surface. She turns away from you, a hand placed across her face. “Why did I say that name, and those things?” A shudder runs through her. “It must indeed be the memories of this place, perhaps seeking to reestablish some of the past. Yes, that must be it.” Uncharacteristically, perhaps, The Spectral Cat rubs against her wispy dress. “Spectral, thank you for guiding the guests around while I cleaned up the lobby.” She smiles at him, the previous tension between them already forgotten. “As such, my guests,” Lucia Brume turns to you, “the hour is late, and perhaps you would care to follow me upstairs for some well-deserved and secure rest? Before, well,” she gazes around the residents, “you get more deeply and irresistibly entangled in what Castle Haven has to offer here.” Without a backwards glance, she glides out the parlor door. As you follow her and The Spectral Cat, the inhabitants of the rooms bid your group farewell in a happy chorus, even if you detect hints that they long for you to stay with them. The lobby is impeccable, or at least much tidier than the first time you had seen it. Lucia Brume hurries up the staircase to the second floor, but The Spectral Cat hangs back to walk right ahead of your group. You hear a giggle, and instinctively turn. Standing at the ajar door to the parlor is the doll with golden locks that you had earlier seen laying on the table. She wears a simple green dress, and her lavender eyes stare at you with the same placid expression common among dolls. Silence for a moment—then the doll blinks. The Spectral Cat meows at you from the top of the staircase, drawing your attention away from the parlor for just a second, which is all it takes for the doll to mysteriously disappear. You rejoin Lucia Brume in a corridor that stretches off to the right of the staircase on the second floor. It has a red velvet carpet dominated by fanciful rose patterns. Glass lamps provide ample illumination for the portraits hung against wallpaper that continues the floral theme but includes butterfly silhouettes. But it is in front of one specific portrait Lucia Brume drifts, reaching out to trace the hair framing the jovial face of Lucas Bartimaeus. The Spectral Cat yowls out what is clearly a reprimand as you approach, and Lucia Brume sighs. “I apologize, my guests—and Spectral,” she says. “Please excuse my erratic behavior, but I must express my concerns somewhere quieter. While we were separated, I happened upon a certain trinket, that locket, underneath the toy doll. It contained photographs of Dorothea Mariposa and her daughter, and they made me feel most peculiar.” Shaking her head, she continues, “The longer we are here, the more secrets we awaken, and with that we must tread carefully. Castle Haven was able to whisper more of its past to me, and one vital point involves Dorothea Mariposa’s husband, Lucas Bartimaeus.” Gazing at his portrait, Lucia Brume presses on, “According to the castle, Lucas Bartimaeus passed away long before he reached middle-age, and Dorothea Mariposa had to then undertake the task of raising her daughter alone, which was quite difficult. She became more and more withdrawn in this castle, but desperate for understanding and comfort. Because of that fact, something quite traumatic appears to have occurred that rocked this whole castle to its core. It is my worry, dear guests, such traumas will cause this castle to try and hold onto us for as long as possible. Already,” she hesitates, “I sought to step outside in vain. Every exit for me was blocked. Spectral, I am certain it is the same case for you.” The Spectral Cat hisses, indignant at this sudden twist of fate, his back arched and misty fur doubled to make him look twice his usual size. “Until we fully reawaken this castle and resolve whatever caused it to fall into such disrepair, I fear that Spectral and I must remain trapped here. You, of course, still have the freedom to come and go whenever you desire, as guests.” Lucia Brume smiles at you. “But I hope you will remain to free us, something best done with some rest.” Turning to peer down the corridor, various doors open. “All of these rooms are guest chambers, available in many forms to pleasure and delight past guests of the Mariposa family. Once you are safely within them, I will lock the doors for your security and determine the best and safest way for us to move forward with our task.”[In the comments, please describe what kind of guest room you would like to stay in for the time being.]***************************The guest accommodations are comfortable and come in various styles to suit the needs of your group. Some of them feature patterns much like those found along the hallway, while others are plain but snug. Each one includes a four-poster bed, a sturdy mahogany bureau, and a modest bathroom. Landscape portraits on the walls show verdant woodlands that where butterflies dance alongside tiny fairies through the forest canopy, and certain stretches of trees have leaves which shimmer in diverse hues, including lavender and amber. These scenes with their clear blue skies, in which a majestic stone castle takes stands hugged by an extensive garden, offer a peek into the past of Castle Haven. Or at least into a period when things were less grim in this area. Despite the uneasy feeling stirred by the warnings Lucia Brume gave you in the hallway, or the noticeable clicking of the locks by her to seal you into the rooms, the exertions of the day compel you to flop onto the soft beds. The blankets seem to wrap about you as if by magic, and the pillows remind you of firmer clouds. You are aware of a certain coolness whenever your hostess glides past, brought on by thin tendrils of fog that seep past cracks around the doors. From a great distance, you almost think you can hear Maestro playing another gentle melody on his piano—although you cannot make it out. But something in it reminds you of a lullaby. You fall asleep with swift ease, at the same time as every other member of your group. However, at the exact moment that all of you fall asleep, you each plunge into the same dream: A knock sounds at the front door, echoing throughout a castle. In the way of dreams, you understand that magic used to animate just about every nook and cranny in this place, where fairies, cats, spirits, and other various beings had taken up residence—until disaster struck. You tiptoe past a door near the end of the hallway carpeted in red velvet, a place it hurts too much to enter because it was among his favorite haunts while studying magic. Beyond the hallway, though, you leap onto the banister of the grand staircase in the front lobby and go sliding down to the bottom, launching yourself with a burst of lavender magic into the air just before the cat statute at the end, and doing a pirouette before landing on the floor. The eyes of the cat statute once sparkled, and its lantern would flare, in acknowledgement of your great feat, but now, like much of the castle, they remain dampened and immobile in mourning. You are frustrated by the gloom, even if the source of it is painful to your own mind—with a daddy gone forever, and with a mommy who might as well be gone for all the time she spends locked in her tower room. Only Casper can gain admittance to that locked room, since he can go wherever he pleases, whenever he wants. Maybe it is because his grandma was Nyx, the head of the cat colony in Curlicue Woods, and he commands so much prominence and holds the same position. Or perhaps it is because he and your mommy have been close friends since before you were born. But right now, Casper saunters down the stairs, old and gray. He keeps you company a great deal nowadays, more so than your mommy. It is he who follows you down the front hallway, past the stained-glass windows. It is also he who holds you back from the front door with a warning snarl, his back arched. There is an odd feeling in the atmosphere, which you can only describe like the areas around burnt trees. You wish your mommy were here. But, when he was still here, he would always say to welcome any visitors to Castle Haven, and you think it would be so nice to have someone to speak with again. Mr. Gimble had been absent since mommy shouted at him, and your letters to and from him are too few and far between. The door opens by magic—a curling, icy kind that makes you shiver for some reason—and a tall man stands in the doorway, pale and gaunt, dressed in blue robes. His eyes are sharp, and he rasps, “Do not be afraid, child. I am the Warlock.” He glances past you at the hallway, as if appraising it, and you sense something else in that glance—greed. Your throat is suddenly dry as he continues, “I have admired your mother from afar and have come to make a… beneficial proposal.” Casper gets between you and him, and he makes a sort of half-hissing, half-yowling sound that you instantly recognize. It is an order to run to your mommy. “Do not be afraid,” the Warlock repeats as you get up and run. But you are afraid. You are so very afraid…. …. Giggling sounds awaken you, the same echoing kind that you heard while still in the front hallway. The guestroom doors unlock and creak open. Silence. Lucia Brume would greet you or announce herself, that much is clear, and even The Spectral Cat seems the type to at least signal his presence in a subtle way. Opening your eyes, you see nothing at the threshold into the room except the clear corridor beyond. More giggling sounds, then something fluffy brushes each of your arms. Toys. Plush toys, of various animals as wide-ranging as rabbits to elephants, are climbing onto your bed and making all manner of squeaky and jingling sounds—in accordance, clearly, with if one could squeeze them to produce a noise. They are all soft, but they come in a swarm that propels you out of bed and towards the hallway. Your whole group meets one another there, driven by wave upon wave of these fluffy creatures. Floating deeper in the air, golden curls waving and eyes glowing bright lavender, is the doll with golden locks you had seen in the lobby. She continues to giggle as she lifts porcelain hand and gestures with her delicate fingers for you to approach. All the while, she drifts backwards, and the animals swarm, towards a closed door near the end of the hallway. The whereabouts of Lucia Brume and the Spectral Cat are unknown, but then a roar rings out elsewhere in the castle, sounding as if it comes from the deepest reaches of a stone well. Maybe Lucia Brume and The Spectral Cat are already occupied… The doll keeps gesturing for you to come along… Glancing over your shoulder, you notice the way is clear towards the lobby. If you make a run for it, you might be able to escape from the dolls—but do you want to escape?***********Still reeling from the ominous dream, you stare at the levitating doll as she and her plushie swarm beckon you towards an unknown room. Many of your group members wish to follow them without hesitation, while others distrust their motives and retreat several steps. Rumbles echo from somewhere deep within Castle Haven. Tension fills the corridor as the toys grow restless. Scruffy bunnies and cats hobble up to tug at your hands, button eyes glistening in the lamplight. The doll studies your reluctance with her head cocked to one side—almost as if she is trying to make a hard decision about something. Then her head straightens, and she drifts towards you with her hand extended. You hear the crinkle of a chain, the same one connected to the locket that Lucia Brume had found and left behind in the parlor room. And indeed, the locket swings from the end of its chain much like a pendulum in front of you, side to side, in an oddly entrancing motion. The doll’s eyes glow, and a vision flashes through your mind:A young girl with golden hair pounds on a thick wooden door somewhere deeper in the castle. The bronze plaque nearby indicates it leads to the main castle tower, where her mother has spent a great deal of time in her grief. In desperation, the young girl cries for help, interrupted briefly as a shrill screech wails through the air from the front hallway and gets cut off.The Warlock is coming.He is the bogeyman she has heard about in bedtime stories. A terror known for sweeping through unsuspecting towns like a winter storm, chilling hearts and sometimes using his own malicious form of magic to twist people into other forms. It cannot possibly not be him, since her father had defeated him years before the young girl was born and used a spell to seal him away. That was how his more chilling stories to her had always gone—right before she got too scared, her father would assure her that he and her mother had taken care of all the monsters that might threaten anyone in and near their woods. Nothing like that could hurt her anymore. But now her father is gone forever, and her mother hardly notices anything.The girl is a proud member of the Mariposa family. She has magic too. Still… she is so afraid.And the air is growing colder…The vision blurs, and you get jerked back to the present to find the doll standing on the floor in front of you, head bowed. Liquid shines as it drips down her cheeks and onto the velvet carpet—Tears.“Mama,” she murmurs in the tremulous lilt of a baby doll. Plush toys gather around to console their diminutive leader. The lamplights along the corridor dim, and even the portrait of Lucas Bartimaeus seems considerably more forlorn.Before you can react to this new development, though, the rumbles from underfoot increase in volume and intensity.Louder.And louder.When the explosion comes, it sounds like dynamite bursting in a mine, except the event happens right in the front lobby. You catch glimpses of stonework flying past through the air, mingled in a cloud of dirt and other debris. Castle Haven convulses, jerking you closer to that end of the corridor and onto your knees—just in time to hear a sharp yowl from The Spectral Cat, who crashes onto the floor inches away, his foggy form more apparent than usual.He lifts his head, notices you, mewls softly, lays his head back down, then gets eclipsed by a shadow. Scrambling forward on your hands and knees, the castle still rumbling slightly, you can gaze fully into the lobby, which now has a large hole in the floor. You hear a drawn-out, flute-like roar seconds before a crystalline form erupts upwards, long and serpentine, trailing chains. The creature soars for the domed ceiling but cannot reach it due to the bonds, so instead he twists about, his eyes clouded, smacking into the walls, and causing pieces of masonry and pictures to come hailing down. He is reminiscent of a giant disoriented butterfly, especially with his broad, colorful wings beating frantically. But this peculiar sight stirs another memory for you; he looks almost exactly like the dragon figurine glimpsed earlier set atop the lobby table, back when toys composed the biggest mess in this room.Speaking of which, the plushies tremble in horror at the crystalline butterfly dragon, which swerves in your direction like a snake yanked sideways. You see the massive form rushing at you too quickly for you to attempt to get out of the way—but the misty tendrils that burst upwards from the hole are as fast as lightning. They wrap about the dragon and bring him crashing onto the ground below, where he flails about. Lucia Brume emerges out of the mist, her hair almost completely undone and looking quite wild. Her eyes burn like coals set alight. “Stay down!” she orders, before turning towards you. “My guests, are you okay? I cannot apologize enough for leaving you alone, but the castle alerted me to the presence of this fairy dragon. It seems he has been a prisoner in the cellar for a while due to some unfortunate circumstances—” she grits her teeth in concentration as the dragon continues to struggle, “—and our waking up of the castle has awoken him as well and made him understandably desperate to leave. As for Spectral…” Lucia Brume sees The Spectral Cat, sitting up in a daze, and breathes a sigh of relief. “Spectral could stand to be more careful.”That is when she notices the toys swarming around you, and the floating doll.“Step away from our guests!” Lucia Brume sends additional tendrils to shield you, but this unwittingly thins out the mist covering the fairy dragon, who partially breaks free and comes up towards your whole group. The doll points a finger and giggles, and the toys surge around you to overwhelm the dragon in a tidal wave. Their plushie bodies bring him crashing down again, and he lets out a massive groan before flopping onto his side. He appears too exhausted to move, and his eyes clear.Amid the sudden stillness, Lucia Brume lands beside and checks you over for any injuries. “Thank goodness,” you hear her murmur, as The Spectral Cat makes his way down to the fairy dragon, seemingly to communicate with him in a calmer environment. The doll lands nearby. Lucia Brume takes a deep breath. “I should have known there was more to you than a desire to make a mess.” Her voice is still shaky from all the effort she has exerted, but you detect obvious relief as well. She offers the doll a curt bob of the head. “Thank you for helping us—hmm…” She pauses, looking uncomfortable. “You do seem familiar, somehow. Why is that?”The doll holds out the locket.Lucia Brume accepts it. However, the moment she clasps it in her hand, she gasps, and her expression grows distant as visions, perhaps the very same ones that you saw, pass before her mind’s eye. In the meantime, you glimpse The Spectral Cat burbling at the fairy dragon, who replies with gentle, hoarse growls. “Oh, my. Oh my, I should have realized.” Lucia Brume blinks and gazes at the doll. “You must be…” She trails off as the doll takes her by the hand, pointing towards the door at the end of the corridor, where she and the other toys were trying to take your group. “Yes, yes, I suppose we should check it out.”The doll leads the way, keeping a firm grip on Lucia Brume, and all of you walk down the corridor. Lucia Brume mutters, “The Warlock. Even I have heard whispers about him in Curlicue Woods, often associated with the retreat of fairies and other local mystical inhabitants. I believed him to be long since gone as well. If he sought to claim Castle Haven for himself, I can only wonder at the fact that it still exists. What happened to him?”You reach the door, which opens at a single touch by the doll. A sizable study greets you. A globe stands in one corner, and maps of various, unknown regions to you cover the walls. Ships in bottles, and other little handcrafted structures like miniature houses and trains crowd a sideboard. There are bookcases crammed full of dusty books in the corners, and a great oaken desk where papers lay scattered, some of which have fallen onto the floor. Lucia Brume frowns. “Look at this mess. He was never very good at keeping his workspace tidy." She pauses, then murmurs, "He?” Shaking her head, she glides over to the desk, and to a book that rests atop it. “The Journal of Lucas Bartimaeus,” she reads aloud. “Yes, that does make sense. Hmm, what is this?” Her thin fingers tug out an unopened envelope from between its pages. “'To my Darling Dorothea.' I suppose Lucas Bartimaeus must have written this soon before he passed, and somehow his wife never saw it. Please excuse me while I take some time to read this, my guests.”Her misty tendrils carefully open the envelope, draw out the letter, and unfold it. All the while, the doll sits on the chair, clutching Lucia Brume’s hand in her own.*******************************You decide to remain in the study while Lucia Brume reads the mysterious letter. The Spectral Cat had been fine when you left him speaking with the fairy dragon, and the doll had gone through a lot of effort to lead your group to this room. One of the first features you can explore in more depth are the volumes that fill the bookcases. They describe such topics as folklore, magical theories, and etiquette for cultures that you have never heard about before. Certain titles are in scripts and languages you cannot read or understand. The models in glass bottles arranged here and there consist of many transports, including trains and airships, miniature buildings, and even the replica of a small town crafted with great care. Apparently, Lucas Bartimaeus had enjoyed experimenting with different structures. A note attached to one of the bottles mentions that he loves to give them to guests. You get the distinct impression that Lucia Brume, The Spectral Cat, and no one else would mind if you happen to take one of these works as a souvenir.[In the comments, please describe what kind of model inside a glass bottle you would like as a gift].As noted previously, maps consume the walls. They indicate various regions, from an expansive mountain range that forms a natural spiral when viewed from above called, “The Hobgoblin Reaches,” to jungles with rainbow-hued rivers, to a dense snowy forest set within an isolated valley surrounded by a desert—all located within a much larger landscape known as “Eclipse.” You even notice a map of Curlicue Woods, verdant and stretching for miles in every direction. It is, in fact, one of the largest forests you have ever seen, and the nearest town of Haven stands along its farthest edge to the east. Underneath the maps are photographs of what at first appear to be completely different places, which have notes attached to their sides that mention reports of dangerous entities or peculiar phenomenon causing harm there—until you take a closer look and realize that many of the photos depict the areas above, only transformed by whatever happened to have devastated them. The photo below the snowy forest, for instance, reveals an isolated valley filled with types of trees constantly burning like raised bonfires, and streams of lava caused by—as a note remarks—a group of fire gremlins who had driven the local population into the desert. At least until Lucas Bartimaeus had stepped in to restore order there. Another photograph and its notes reveal that the Hobgoblin Reaches had suffered from severe earthquakes and vicious attacks caused by an enormous carnivorous worm, but Dorothea Mariposa had come to rescue the hobgoblins and defeated the creature. Similar stories lay under many of the photographs—including a photo revealing that, at one time, a fair portion of Curlicue Woods had been withered and twisted, with a spiky tower inhabited by none other than the malicious Warlock. The notes indicate that that specific portion of the woods had been off-limits even when Dorothea Mariposa’s parents first established Castle Haven, even when The Warlock was known to be away wandering the world and spreading his misery elsewhere. “Everything changed when Lucas Bartimaeus encountered The Warlock terrorizing a desert town in the west,” Lucia Brume says in a strange, quiet voice. She has noticed you gazing at the photographs, but she keeps her gaze averted to the letter clutched in her hands. “He includes the account of it here. The Warlock had surrounded the town with spiky barbs and transformed all the horses into griffins under his control, using them to carry off the residents to a tower he can created as a stronghold nearby.” She pauses for a shuddering breath. Something has nearly rattled her. “Lucas met The Warlock for the first time there, and their battle made him realize just how powerful The Warlock was, and how monstrous. It was a terrible fight that rent the earth and created a fierce storm, made even more desperate by the knowledge his wife, Dorothea, would soon give birth to their child.” Lucia Brume falters and glances down at the doll, who squeezes her hand and leans against her side. “In the end, however, he had just enough power to rescue the residents of the tower, grind the tower down to a single black spike, and seal The Warlock away within it. It was the best he could do. He barely survived and was tended to by one of the people he helped to save, a fellow traveler by the name of Mr. Gimble. That… must have been how they met. Following The Warlock’s defeat, reports of monsters and other destructive creatures devastating parts of the land decreased rapidly, until they were only occasional and far tamer than what either Lucas Bartimaeus or Dorothea Mariposa had dealt with in the past. Curlicue Woods recovered its fully beauty and vitality, and more.”Lucia Brume turns her gaze towards a sideboard, which displays a plaque shaped from a portion of a fragrant rosewood tree, declaring itself to have come from the fairy court of Curlicue Woods and stating the fairies are indebted to the Mariposa Family. Next to this plaque stands a statue of Nyx, The Spectral Cat’s grandmother, covered in paw prints, as if all the cats in the forest had sought to sign it in their own unique way as a present.You hear the walls of Castle Haven beginning to creak and shift, more and more. As if it is groaning in pain and remembrance. The whispers that had been so prevalent in the front hall make a return, echoing and crying out discernable things. Still, your hostess continues like she refuses to stop, or perhaps is unable to stop.“Lucas Bartimaeus and Dorothea Mariposa rarely traveled far, instead enjoying the ability to settle down and focus on their daughter, Penny, who was quite powerful in her own right and carefree. Hmm, he neglects to mention the fairy dragon,” she mutters. “Perhaps that creature was a gift from the fairies?”A long pause this time. The whispers fade to a low ebb, and Lucia Brume frowns as she continues to relate the contents of the letter, “Except there was something Lucas never told his wife or daughter—that The Warlock had cursed him. He had peculiar pains throughout his body, which gradually became worse over time, and he began to grow transparent and forgetful. Then a letter came from old Mr. Gimble,” Lucia Brume shuffles through the clutter on the desk, at last finding another envelope and tugging it free, “to say he had learned the seal on the black spike had begun to break, and the people in the desert town would hear laughter in each night. So, this letter says he had decided to venture there alone…” Your hostess falls silent, closing her eyes, and murmurs, “However, I can guess he never came back. When wizards pass away in our world, my guests, they disappear in bursts of magic, so there would have been no body. Maybe, just maybe,” she murmurs, “Mr. Gimble was the one to deliver the bad news that he had disappeared.” Another long pause, as the whole of Castle Haven groans and murmurs. “Oh, Lucas, why did you never tell Dorothea?”Then Lucia Brume lowers her gaze to the letter once again, “Ah, he explains his reason here. ‘It would have made you too miserable to learn of it, my love, and I promised you on our wedding day I would strive to keep that light in your eyes from dimming during our life together. ‘Because you are the light of my life, my sweet Lu—'” Here she breaks off abruptly, appearing as if she has just been slapped, and the fog clears.“It cannot be,” she murmurs slowly, backing away from the desk. “That cannot possibly be correct. It is impossible,” her voice drops to a whisper, “but there is only one way to know for sure.” The doll keeps a firm grip on her hand, but the fog composing Lucia Brume’s hand shifts between her porcelain fingers. Lucia Brume turns and glides out of the room. She moves down the hall, and all you can do is follow her while the doll hobbles unsteadily beside you, holding Lucas Bartimaeus' journal.You cross the second-floor landing that overlooks the front lobby, where The Spectral Cat has been working on the chains binding the fairy dragon, many of which now lay discarded on the floor. They both pause, however, to watch Lucia Brume wander towards another hallway leading deeper into the castle, and sensing the significance of the moment, The Spectral ambles up the stairs to join you without a sound, while the fairy dragon makes a low and forlorn crooning sound as you depart. The hallway Lucia Brume moves along is almost identical the one with the guestrooms, except it lacks rooms of any kind and seems to stretch interminably to a wooden door at the end. Your hostess makes shushing sounds as Castle Haven whispers around her, as if trying to shut them out, and her foggy tendrils open the door onto darkness.When you cross the threshold after her, it is as if you have stepped into a M.C. Escher painting. Staircases stretch throughout the spacious room beyond in various directions, with some of them seeming to be upside-down, others crisscrossing each other at odd angles, and more than a few seeming to lead up or down right to blank walls. You also spot potted plants, portraits of actual Escher paintings, and even carpets in the room on the floor, walls, and ceiling. From the platform where you stand, however, you are just in time to see a staircase made entirely of mist stretching up to a door higher up in the room on the far wall, which has a plaque above it that designates the “Tower Room.” But the staircase dissolves as Lucia Brume slips through the door, leaving you stranded. The doll tugs at your hand and points to a sign, which has appeared in a poof of magic. It reads, “Everyone has a unique perspective.”**********A metal staircase manifests before your entire group, spiraling in broad sweeps upwards toward the door high on the opposite wall. Beginning the ascent, each step chimes out musical notes that reverberate and cause the room around you to distort into various shapes and assume various hues, as if unable to decide upon a specific identity. Or perhaps, at this peculiar juncture, Castle Haven is trying to make its own attempts to entertain you. Instruments are everywhere. They come in varying styles, including tubas, cellos, harps, and even grand pianos. Several of them drift through space like fish in water, while others cling to the walls and ceiling in imitation of birds or bats. Whatever the position, however, they harmonize with the musical notes that your footsteps produce—reminiscent of an orchestra spread to fill the space. You get the impression that Castle Haven appreciates this lighthearted renovation of its room, which helps to alleviate a bit of the somberness that has fallen over your party since Lucia Brume left in her peculiar daze. The doll rides upon The Spectral Cat, who tolerates the treatment surprisingly well. Then again, the porcelain figure weighs very little, but occasionally she murmurs, “Mama.” More than halfway to the top, The Spectral Cat bristles slightly. His whiskers twitch in apparent alarm, and he pauses to glance back down the way you had come. Coming through the doorway is the fairy dragon, trailing a chain wrapped about his neck, attached to what is clearly a tight-fitting silver collar. He looks nervous while checking out all the commotion, until he takes a moment to really listen to the melodies you are helping the castle to create, which soothes his nerves. It is then that you glimpse his eyes for the first time. They are a bright emerald green, clear yet careworn. Something deep within their recesses hints at a soul who has seen many things, except he cannot share them aloud. In fact, you perceive a certain desperation there to do exactly that. Noticing your scrutiny, the fairy dragon adds his own soft, flute-like crooning to the chorus and climbs the staircase after you, but the chain clanging on each step inserts a note of cacophony into the mix so disturbing that The Spectral Cat finally hisses in annoyance and bounds down to him. Still seated on her feline stead, the doll reaches out for his collar. The moment her fingers brush the metal, a burst of crackling dark blue magic explodes from the spot and sends both the doll and The Spectral Cat flying back. Thankfully, they appear stunned rather than hurt. A sudden pressure in the atmosphere deafens all sound, to the point where you can now hear the whispers of Castle Haven quite clearly. “He is coming,” they breathe anxiously into your ear, like children’s voices on the wind, “He can feel you tampering with his misery and restoring our home. He is coming! He is coming! You must hurry!” Alongside the distant cries, fading away, you hear it—the ominous sound of knocking. As if on a distant door. It is the same type of slow, methodical knocking heard in the dream, when so much had changed in the life of a child, and for an entire castle, for many, many years. Except, this time, you hear the distinct sound of wood splintering in the distance as well. The metal staircase shudders beneath you, then abruptly disappears. You fall through the air, past trembling instruments and panicking musical notes. Members of your group manage to grab ahold of The Spectral Cat and the doll, even while the ground below comes rushing up much too quickly. A blur of multicolored luminescence streaks beneath you, and the next thing you know, your group is raising back up through the air, on the back of the fairy dragon. At least some of your hands are gripping the silver collar, but unlike for the doll, your contact with it fails to cause any unpleasant effects. It simply feels cold, and you hear a voice reverberates through the whole body of the fairy dragon, “Please put your faith in me, kind guests. I wish to apologize for my disruption earlier.” Your translucent mount weaves deftly between a whole wind section before streaking up towards the tower room door. “It has been a very long time since anyone has heard my voice. The enchantments and curses placed on Castle Haven have made it so difficult to hear or think from where I lay in the darkness, frozen in slumber. Your very presence is bringing this place back to life once more… and memories are returning to me.” Shaking his head, he swerves to avoid a group of harps suspended in mid-air like jellyfish, their strings cut loose and waving in a chilled breeze you can feel seeping through the stone walls of the room. “But we will speak of that later. Until then…. oh no…” Following the gaze of the fairy dragon, you see dark blue tendrils creeping out from between cracks in the walls. They crawl across the stonework like thick ivy, then streak towards your party. “Hold on tight!” the fairy dragon says, weaving among the tendrils. More and more of them are filling the space below, and The Spectral Cat hisses at the sight of them working their ways towards the tower room door. Suddenly, the shrill sound of a high note, played on the trumpet, blares through all the chaos, striking a few of the tendrils with great and magical force. Amazingly, they draw back. The trumpet that had made the move twists about in the air towards you, and the rest of the musical instruments begin to gather around the fairy dragon almost like an enormous, orchestral shield. And you hear Castle Haven whisper, “You have helped to conjure these instruments, and to fill this room with life, and now they wish to help you. Please, give them guidance.”********Guided by the suggestions of your group members, the instruments throughout the room launch one symphony piece after another at the malicious tendrils. Music vibrates through the atmosphere, and the fairy dragon murmurs, “The vibrancy of this music is like something heard long ago, although I cannot put my wingtip on the exact memory.” Then he shakes his head. “I beg your pardon. Now is hardly the time to freeze up, so let me personally carry you to our destination!” With a great flap of butterfly wings, your group weaves around the main participants in the battle, which continues to grow in intensity as you zoom towards the tower room door, thrown slightly ajar amid all the commotion—at which point the doll has just enough presence of mind to wave her hand and use magic to it open the rest of the way. The fairy dragon sails through the opening, and the door slams shut behind you. Silence. You are on a much shorter set of stone stairs moving upwards towards an archway, from which mist gently cascades in a waterfall. The fairy dragon tucks his wings tightly against his sides, but he carries your group members on his back. “It is the least I can do,” he says, while the doll holds onto the chain to prevent it from dragging along the stone floor underfoot. “I know this castle so well, yet I can barely remember how I came to be chained up for so long—only that it was done by a wicked soul, with powers much like those we have just witnessed.” He shudders. “Of course, it seems that The Spectral Cat has a fragmented memory as well, and the same is likely true for the doll. Is it?” The fairy dragon glances at your golden-locked companion, who squeezes the chain and mutters, “Mama,” her attention focused on the open doorway only a few steps away. “Yes, I suppose you do wish to return to your mama…” The fairy dragon frowns, brow furrowed in thought, before stepping across the threshold into a sizable chamber. A large stained-glass window, much like the kind found in the front hallway, looms on the wall, covered by overgrown ivy—thankfully the type that covers much of the exterior of Castle Haven, rather than the more violent version from which you had just escaped. The contents of this room bear similarities to Lucia Bartimaeus’ study, except there are more bookcases crammed with dusty volumes of lore, and rather than models in glass bottles, you notice sketches and sculptures of fairies covering the walls—including one detailed portrait of a moonlit glade where these fair folk are holding a grand celebration, feasting at log-thin tables, drawing goblets of water up from a nearby, glistening pond, and dancing with each other while musicians perform on wooden flutes and stringed harps. A tall, stately fay sits beneath the roots of the largest tree in the glade, adorned in turquoise robes, with Nyx clearly curled up on her lap, and other cats moving among the throng. Mist obscures the floor, trailing in all directions from Lucia Brume, who sits on her knees before the stained-glass window. The locket glints around her neck, the letter lays on her lap, and her hair is now completely undone from its bun and flows down her back. “Oh, my guests, you are here. I have left you numerous times since you arrived at Castle Haven, haven’t I? Such a poor hostess.” Her voice is quiet and strange. “I came to Castle Haven after wandering for so long throughout Curlicue Woods, never questioning why I could never remember what came before, until this place drew me. I believed the reason was due to its loneliness, and sought your help to restore it—for what is a setting such as Castle Haven, lost except for in old legends or stories, until a ‘reader’ discovers and brings it to life? But I just had to be part of the mystery as well.” Lucia Brume lifts the letter and reads the final line, “’For you are the light of my life, my sweet Lucia.” The fairy dragon gently lets your group members slide off his back amid the long pause that follows, after which Lucia Brume murmurs, “A nickname Lucas Bartimaeus must have called me, long ago, although I cannot remember it.” The Spectral Cat strides over to Lucia Brume and rubs against her ankles, and she scratches him under the chin. “I suppose every ‘haunted house’ has a twist, doesn’t it, my guests?” Lucia Brume asks. “You venture into them, believing you can venture in and then leave without ramifications, but they often reveal what haunts you as well.” Dropping the chain, which makes a soft clink on the floor, the doll rushes over to hug her arm. “Mama,” she murmurs, and Lucia Brume gently brushes back her hair. “The question is,” Lucia Brume gazes at the fairy dragon, “where do you fit into the whole picture? Lucas Bartimaeus’ letter mentions nothing about a fairy dragon.” Under her sudden scrutiny, the fairy dragon shifts uncomfortably. “I am afraid to say I haven’t the faintest idea of my role here.” “Aside from destroying the floors of perfectly good lobbies and causing an awful mess.” “That was unintentional!” the fairy dragon defends, with a flick of his tail. “After your humming woke me in the basement—or was that a dungeon—all I could think of was escaping. I was disoriented, and your cat swatted at my face.” Lucia Brume looks ready to snap back a defense of her own, probably on behalf of The Spectral Cat, when the fairy dragon suddenly asks, “You were humming the melody of that old song. What was it called? The one that goes, ‘Just like me, they long to be, close to you?’” Lucia sighs, rubbing the locket between her wispy fingers. “How do you know the words to the song?” “I cannot say,” the fairy dragon admits. “Like me, your memories are fragmented, and I think I understand why,” Lucia Brume raises to her feet, the doll’s hand in her own. “If I am—or was—Dorothea Mariposa, then I must have failed to defend Castle Haven against The Warlock.” She stares up at the covered stained-glass windows. “He must have come here after his curse finished off Lucas Bartimaeus, and Dorothea, or I, was too distracted to stand against him. I am the reason Castle Haven fell into disrepair and ruin, and The Warlock cursed everyone here. It is all my fault.” The Spectral Cat mewls, and the doll leans against her, but the fairy dragon cranes his neck around Lucia Brume to face her head-on. “You are too hard on yourself. There has to be more to the story than that.”In response, Lucia Brume swishes past him to the stained-glass windows. “Then how do you explain this?” Her misty tendrils curl around the ivy vines and yank them aside to reveal an image of The Warlock standing before a crumbling version of Castle Haven, dark blue magic curling from his upraised, gnarled hands, while the surrounding forest withers, and the form of Dorothea Mariposa cringes before him as she dissolves into fog. All your guides stare at the picture as if spellbound. It is doll who turns first from this display, followed by The Spectral Cat. They approach you, seeming to each try and say something in their own way, but thwarted by their forms. Castle Haven whispers, however, “You have changed this place by your presence and decisions. You have affected the story it has to tell. You have the power to reveal truths. Please, make such a decision now.”**************The compassion of your group members towards this rueful scene calls for more than a single option. Comforting Lucia Brume at her lowest, touching the magical stained-glass window that might just reveal forgotten truths, and figuring out the silver collar around the fairy dragon’s neck—each offer possibilities to resolve present heartaches caused by past tragedies. Meanwhile, from somewhere back the way you came, it is as if you can feel a chill in the air like a distant warning of danger on the way. First, however, you step forward to console Lucia Brume, followed by The Spectral Cat and the doll. Your misty hostess jerks at your approach, turning a tear-stained face and eyes widened in fear towards you, then relaxes at the sympathy clear in your expressions. “Oh, my guests,” she says and manages a small smile. “I had Spectral lead you here to Castle Haven in the hopes you could help me bring this sad place to life, while I acted as your hostess and fascinated you with great delights and entertainments. But then matters took a dark and intimate twists, quite unexpectedly. You could have left, but you chose to stay here and lend your support.” Lucia Brume wipes away a tear, the lights in her eyes glistening as she says, “Thank you for choosing to stay with us.” The Spectral Cat mewls and rubs against each of your legs, the doll gently hugs you, and the fairy dragon rubs his head against you. Each one could very well have felt cold to the touch, with The Spectral Cat’s foggy form, the doll’s porcelain arms, the fairy dragon’s crystalline snout, and Lucia Brume’s mist—as she leans forward to hug you—but instead you find they are surprisingly warm and quite solid. You get the impression this might not have always been the case, or at least when you first stepped foot into Castle Haven, but your presence and decisions since then have changed matters. Eventually, you draw back from these embraces and approach the stained-glass window, with its dreadful scene. The glass emits a piercing glow at a touch from your fingertips, and everything fades—replaced by a scene from a distant memory:Dorothea Mariposa stands in the tower. Grief has worn deep creases into her expression, but fury overtakes it as The Warlock enters the room. “How dare you step foot into this castle, you fiend, after what you did to my husband!” Clasping the locket around her neck, she radiates an aura of lavender magic, clearly preparing a spell to send this unwelcomed visitor packing. “I could just—” “Do what, may I ask?” The Warlock interrupts. His tone is quiet and calm, but an ominous pressure pervades the space between them. Pressure caused by immense magical prowess that reeks of foul deeds, far beyond anything Dorothea has ever faced before. Every fiber of her being advises caution, for this thing in her path is an eldritch horror wearing a flimsy human guise. The Warlock cocks his head to one side. “If you could ‘just,’ you would have come running to Lucas Bartimaeus’ aid when I broke free from my prison, rather than hoping your husband had dealt me a fatal blow. Wizards disappear when killed, after all, so it was difficult to know for certain, one way or the other. Instead, you chose to hide here in your tower out of fear for your life.” He examines the contents of the room as if taking inventory of everything. Lifting a small portrait from a sideboard, The Warlock taps the small figure shown smiling between her parents. The place he touches sizzles. “Or perhaps you simply did not want to leave your daughter here and fight a battle you could not possibly win?”Caution. Dorothea feels her grip tighten on the locket and struggles to concentrate on her opponent. The slightest move, or the smallest spell, might unleash disastrous consequences. It would be so easy to throw aside all thoughts for her own safety to rid the world of this monster, and as a younger practitioner in the magic arts, she had done exactly that on more than one occasion.But The Warlock has guessed right.Dorotha did hope Lucas had finished off The Warlock…And she had been too fearful of losing the one sunbeam left in her life…Except… Dorothea had also been so torn apart by Lucas’ passing, she had paid barely any attention to Penny since then. Guilt pulses through her. As if sensing this internal conflict, The Warlock fixes her with his soulless eyes. “Do not worry about your daughter,” he says in the same composed tone, raising a hand from which bluish magic seeps, “she, like your pet cat, is no longer an impediment. A plaything left where she will not disturb us as we speak of proposals, including my acquisition of this castle.”Static drowns out the rest of his words. Her sunbeam fades.Dorothea attacks.The fight to follow rages from the tower room to throughout Castle Haven, making the walls tremble and crack amid the rippling shocks of magical blasts. As each combatant dodges and weaves around the other, family heirlooms, knickknacks, and various memorabilia gathered over generations and from around the world shatter in their wake. Dorothea wards off the bluish tendrils and crackly dark lightning with sweeps of lavender magic that turn into sparkling butterflies and explode on contact, among other techniques cast one after another so seamlessly it is like they are performing a graceful dance. But nothing could be further from the truth. Every clash is devastating, and all Dorothea can think of is eliminating her opponent. It is the only thing keeping her from breaking down at the realization she has failed to protect her daughter. Even so, somewhere in the screaming contours of her mind, Dorothea whispers apologies to Little Penny, to her faithful feline companion Casper, and to Lucas Bartimaeus. “I should have listened to your advice, Casper, and sent Penny up north for a while. But my desperation to keep her close got the better of me. And Lucas—oh, my love, you were right,” she murmurs, “The past does have a way of haunting us. Now, all I can think of is us reuniting once again, somewhere and at some time.” With such a wish burning fiercely in her mind, Dorothea fends off the spells from The Warlock, fighting as her world crumbles. The length of their battle is unknown; it seems to go on for hours, or perhaps even days, causing whatever magical creatures remain anywhere near the castle to flee and withering much of the surrounding vegetation—including the extensive castle garden. Dorothea derives grim satisfaction from knowing The Warlock likely believed she would succumb all too easily to his “proposal” once he had stolen so much from her, and she glimpses frustration in his regard at odd moments, when time seems to slow down just a little, and amid breaks in assaults. Even she cannot keep up this rigorous pace forever. Flecks of dark magic touch and accumulate over time, slowing her progress and making thought difficult. They are doing other peculiar things to her as well. Dorothea notices a certain transparency to her limbs, and an odd mist drips from her form. She is losing herself, bit by bit, and before much longer The Warlock might seize control of Castle Haven—and that was something Dorothea absolutely needs to prevent. She must keep him from winning and using this place as a stronghold from which to spread his misery across the land. The Warlock also appears to be losing ground. He curses, and steams as if overheating from his extended, intense use of his various spells. Finally, he hisses, “I curse you, Dorothea Mariposa, you and this whole castle.” His brows knit together. “Do you want to see your husband so badly? Then, I shall bring you to him right away!” He snaps his fingers, and instantly there comes a deep, resonant roar. A crystalline dragon with a silver collar and butterfly wings comes barreling into their present room, the front lobby, summoned by his master—eyes sightless and bright blue. Dorothea recognizes this type of despicable magic. The Warlock has taken control of the dragon to give himself a moment to recover, and now Dorothea must face down both The Warlock and this poor creature. She is almost at her limit now. Her form is growing dimmer. It is little wonder The Warlock taunted her with the declaration of seeing her husband soon. Dorothea needs to end this whole thing and keep The Warlock from getting loose. She must, just as Lucas did, seal The Warlock away—and Castle Haven will become the perfect place to see his reign of terror ends before it can go any further, there to remain until some way can be found to destroy him once and for all. Tears streaming down her cheeks, Dorothea draws upon all her remaining energy and calls out a powerful sealing spell. Magical butterflies fill the air, pressing against the walls and suffusing the entire room with light. Chains raise from a hole blown in the floor. They wrap around the dragon and pull him deep into the bowels of the castle. Whispers echo through her mind. Dorothea feels as if everything is falling apart. “I will join my daughter, husband, and closest companion in eternal peace, but you will remain here forever and suffer!” Dorothea proclaims. But The Warlock creases his lips into the rictus as the sealing spell wraps about him. “You are wrong, for I have cursed you,” he says. “I may stay here, but you will wander in unknowing torment. Where will you go?” The Warlock sneers. “No, I am certain you will return here someday, and then I will be free again.” He lifts a hand and sends a bolt of dark lightning that strikes Dorothea, sending her sailing. She expects to strike the wall at any moment, to feel the harsh crash of her body against something solid, but instead she continues to fly at a swift pace backwards, past stone barriers and wood. And the faster she goes, the less everything makes sense. Until… Until she awakens, standing upright amid a dense forest, a being of mist who gazes around at her surroundings in confusion. She reaches up to grab at something around her neck—something that is not there, and which she cannot remember. “What was I just doing?” she wonders aloud, her voice echoing. “On that note, who am I?” Then she recalls something about light and sunbeams, and a fierce urge to set things to right overtakes her, such as her hair, disheveled and unruly, which she promptly draws up into a tidy bun. “There we go. Much better.” A mewl sounds nearby, and she turns to find a cat made of fog gazing up at her. “Well, hello, it looks like we belong in the same place,” she says with a small smile, already consoled by the sight of some creature akin to herself. “Who are you?” When the cat mewls again, she nods in understanding. “Ah, so you are calling yourself The Spectral Cat. And who am I, you say? Well, I have been pondering that question, and I think I have the answer, “Lucia.” Frowning at the short name, she hurriedly adds, “Lucia Brume.” …. ….The scene fades. You are again standing in the tower room before the stained-glass window, gazing at the same stained-glass reflection, but with a new understanding of what story exists behind it. “I remember it now. Everything. And all this time, I never realized…” Turning around, you see Lucia Brume on her knees before the doll, brushing back those golden locks with trembling fingertips. She interrupts another plaintive “Mama,” by sweeping her daughter into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Penny,” Lucia Brume soothes while stroking back the doll’s hair. “I’m so sorry.” The Spectral Cat approaches, and Lucia Brume turns to him. “Casper, I take it?” she asks, and The Spectral Cat shrugs. Apparently, in this mind, he has always been a cat and able to go where he pleases, and nothing beyond that really matters. Despite that, he still draws in close for affection from Lucia Brume and the doll. Meanwhile, the fairy dragon bows his head. “I am glad for you, but sad as well. Because I was nothing more than a minion for that cruel Warlock, who you happened to seal in this castle.” “I am not so sure of that,” Lucia Brume replies, carrying the doll in her arms. “No one here is what they seem, or so our guests have revealed to us.” She turns to you and nods, “If you would do the honors?” You reach out and touch the silver collar, and once again, another scene fills your mind: Deep in the desert, Lucas Bartimaeus stifles a cry of pain as he lays at the feet of The Warlock, robes swishing in the hot breeze. He curls the fingers on his good hand into a fist, dirt hissing between his fingers, and gazes at his other hand and arm, which are translucent as glass. Every part of his body is stiff and aches. He cannot move but only watch as The Warlock gazes down at him. “You have cost me dearly, wizard.” The Warlock glowers. “It is now time for you to pay me back, with your service.” He reaches down, grabs Lucas by the hair, and closes his eyes as an aura of dark blue magic glints around his form. Visions flash before Lucas’ eyes of his wife and daughter in Castle Haven, deep in Curlicue Woods. They lend him strength just as much as they terrify him, since he can tell The Warlock has seen them as well. “I beg you,” he winces, “if you have an iota of humanity left, leave them alone.” “Ah, that is to say—” The Warlock presses on, as if Lucas hasn’t spoken, “you shall repay me with your service and your home, for I lay claim to them both. All of you will serve me well.” A white-hot jolt shoots down Lucas’ spine, half blinding him as many strange things happen to his body, which is stretching and casting ever longer shadows on the hard desert ground. His limbs contort, and his neck elongates. Wings sprout from his back. Alongside all the horror and agony, a dense fog is clouding his mind, confusing him. One final thought manages to flit to the surface as The Warlock climbs onto his back, before the first powerful flap of his wings sweeps it away, “Goodbye, my love.” … …Once more, you are all in the tower room. The silver collar drops to the ground and vanishes. Lucia Brume stares at the fairy dragon, incredulous. “L-L-Lucas?” she breathes. “Daddy?” the doll asks. As the first word you have heard her say other than “Mama,” it sounds strange and slightly garbled, as if she is having trouble with the pronunciation. In fact, she seems somewhat surprised at being able to accomplish even that much—and perhaps your touching of the window affected her as much as it did Lucia Brume. In excitement, she throws up her hands and tries something else, “Mamma, Daddy came home!” “Yes, sweetie, he did,” Lucia Brume says gently, but then her eyes flash bright red as she smacks the fairy dragon on the snout with one hand. “And he is in big trouble for not telling me anything about getting cursed in the first place, and for running off to face The Warlock alone without telling me.” “But, honey, I made you a promise…” the fairy dragon begins feebly. “That is no excuse to keep something so important hidden from me,” she persists. The fairy dragon hangs his head, truly repentant. “No, that is no excuse, and I cannot apologize enough to you or Penny… for everything.” A small pause spent staring at him is all it takes for Lucia Brume’s expression to soften. “Well, between you being so foolish and you coming back at all—I would rather have you here, you big goof.” She leans against his head, while the doll squeezes his snout, and The Spectral Cat sits perched atop his head. Lucia Brume smiles at you. “Thank you for this happiness as well, my guests. You are the most powerful wizards we have ever known.” The doll and fairy dragon nod in agreement, while The Spectral Cat simply frisks his tail to one side. “Are you sure about that?” A quiet voice rasps, and everyone turns. There, standing in what had once been the doorway—now laying in splinters on the floor—is The Warlock himself. You notice he has a slight limb when entering the room. “The whole magical family is together again, I see.” “No thanks to you.” The fairy dragon growls at him, pupils narrowed into furious slits. “No, but thanks to—them?” The Warlock turns in your group. Even by just glimpsing his eyes, you have an unnerving sensation of peering into a fathomless abyss, dizzying and draining. What you have seen of those eyes within the memories of your guides failed to prepare you for the shock of it, or for the pressure in the air that presses down like heavy weights on your shoulders. Immediately, Lucia Brume, the fairy dragon, the doll, and The Spectral Cat step protectively in front of you. “Careful now. Let us consider this situation logically,” The Warlock states. “You have little power in those forms to hinder me, and even if you were in your rightful shapes, you could do nothing more than seal me away again, when I would return and eventually claim this castle. Even your—what are those, again?” He waves a gnarled, dismissive hand towards you. “They are our guests,” the doll warbles. “Our friends.” Lucia takes a step forward. “That is right, and they are more powerful than you could ever hope to be. They are the ones whose presence and choices has reversed so much of the damage brought about by you. Because of them, our family has been reunited. They have the power to overcome your magic and curses.” “Yes, they do so by making choices, is that correct?” The Warlock sneers. “A curious power, but one which brings its own consequences. You,” he turns that horrible look on you again, “these former wizards say you can overcome my powers, so I will pose this question to you. Would you rather use these magical abilities of yours to, perhaps, remove the curses on your ‘friends,’ or would you use them to defeat me?” “That is a dirty choice to ask them to make, and you know it,” Lucia Brume snaps. The Warlock shrugs. “I only want them to make their own logical choice in the matter. Either they force you to remain cursed forever in favor of, possibly, eliminating me from this world, or they return you to your original forms, depending on you to finish me off.” “Do not worry about us, my guests,” Lucia Brume insists. “You have given us back our memories. Now all that remains is to keep The Warlock from every harming anyone else.” “There is a possibility even they could not do such a thing,” The Warlock declares. “Stop trying to influence them. What is your choice, guests?”*******Listening to your responses that call for each choice in equal measure, indignation rattles through The Warlock. Magic flares in his narrowed eyes, and the oppression in the atmosphere noticeably increases. It seems you have managed to crack his calm demeanor in a single stroke. “Foolish trespassers into this realm,” he rasps, shaking a gnarled fist at you. “I demanded a simple, logical selectin from two possibilities, and yet you defy me by declaring both as your collective answer. You shall pay for such impertinence with a curse that will—” Whatever else he is about to say, while dark lightning crackles along his fingertips, gets overwhelmed by a sudden whispering chorus. A breeze blows around you, gentle and warm, as the whispers increases, and you feel rejuvenated. In fact, even more than rejuvenated, you feel buoyant—which makes sense, because you have now been lifted at least an inch off the stone floor, filled with magic that shimmers around your forms in a parade of colors. Magic bestowed by Castle Haven itself. This same power, in answer to your summons, swirls around The Warlock and reaches up as if to drag him down into the ground. He swats at the magic while unleashing a flurry of curses at this sudden development, although his words fail to change anything. “Impossible! I am The Warlock of Nightmares Made Real, a mage who has brought the greatest magic-wielders in this land of Eclipse to their knees. Nothing can negate my power or truly deny me, so how can you—?” Scowling, he points one thin finger at your group. “What are you?” The Warlock shrieks. “How could you possibly have these abilities?” “They are our guests,” Lucia Brume replies. Her voice is echoing, and a prism of hues much like the kind around The Warlock surrounds her, the fairy dragon, the doll, and The Spectral Cat. But they refuse to move from where they stand guarding you against The Warlock, and somehow you get the impression they have nothing to fear from this specific magic. “Furthermore, they are the most powerful ones here,” she glances back at you for a moment, with great tenderness. “Everything in Castle Haven came to life because of them, and I am so grateful for what they have done for my family.” “A preposterous sentiment, and it will not save you!” The Warlock calls out. Bluish tendrils crackling with darkness squirm from between cracks in the walls. They swarm on all sides, arching overhead into sharp points, then shoot downwards like spears towards your party. However, nothing can hurt you here. You indeed hold the power. These words echo in your mind, repeated by the chorus of whispers from Castle Haven, and in a simple motion of your hands, the tendrils burst apart. In the same motion, the prism swirls of your own magic tightly wrap about The Warlock, and at the same time envelope Lucia Brume, the fairy dragon, the doll, and The Spectral Cat. An explosion of light. There, standing inches away from you, are the figures you first glimpsed in the stained-glass windows in the front hallways, and in then in each of their visions—Dorothea Mariposa, Lucas Bartimaeus, Little Penny, and Casper. They glance between one another in surprise, then smile. Meanwhile, The Warlock continues to struggle against his bonds. His face, for the first time, shows undisguised terror, even as he tries to spit one curse after another at you. No one listens to him. Dorothea nods at you and the others. “Let’s finish cleaning up the castle, shall we?” “I’m in!” Little Penny declares. “So am I,” Lucas squeezes his wife’s hand. Casper simply hisses at The Warlock. All your hosts radiate magic, and you can feel your own brand of magic filling you from head to toe. You are floating amid the warmth, beside this happy family, and everything is just fine—as your combined forces come coursing outwards in a bright wave. You catch a glimpse of The Warlock dissolving, and hear another curse get cut off, right before everything goes a bright hue of colors, much like the aurora borealis. At the end of it all, you hear a deep, pleasant creaking, as if the whole of Castle Haven has finally released a long-held breath and relaxed. All traces of The Warlock have been swept away, while the Mariposa family members stand hugging each other and weeping with joy and relief. Your combined magic has done more than restore the original forms of your guides. It soon becomes clear Castle Haven, in its entirety, has shaken off the darkness cast by The Warlock. Walking down the musical staircase from the tower, the orchestra of instruments serenades you. They even seem to call for suggestions as to the perfect music with which to celebrate your achievements.[In the comments, please indicate what song you would love to hear played in your honor for defeating The Warlock and restoring peace to Castle Haven].An adoring crowd of plush toys awaits you in the repaired front lobby, cheering and clapping. Sunshine pours in through the windowed dome overhead, making everything below seem to shimmer, including all the family portraits hung on the walls. The door into the parlor is open wide, with Maestro performing encore performances of the songs you had requested earlier. Cats are wandering out, and many of the ones you specifically asked to have while reading in the library come straight to you for extra affection—especially in the case of Casper. Meanwhile, Mario and his other crew are still invisible, which seems to have been their natural state, but they swish in and out of the lobby, setting out tables that they fill with various delicacies. Clearly, they are all ready to thank you in their own special ways.[In the comments, please state what kind of sweets or treats you would enjoy having at this joyous moment].Amid all the happiness, Little Penny—who has slipped away briefly from all the festivities into the front hallway—comes racing back. “Come quickly!” she cries in excitement. “The garden is back, and it’s really, really pretty.” Dorothea, Lucas, and your group follow Little Penny past the gleaming stained-glass windows and outside, where all the mist has cleared. Curlicue Woods, you notice, is now flourishing and verdant. But within the refurbished fence surrounding the property stretches the same type of garden you had glimpsed in the windows, with familiar and exotic flowers and plants intermingling on either side of a well-maintained dirt path that leads to the entryway. Butterflies are already flitting about the blooms, and more than a few alight on your heads or shoulders briefly before flying off to further explore the garden. It is a beautiful day and, as Dorothea comments, “It has been so long since we’ve seen the sun.” Lucas readjusts the sign on the front gate for Castle Haven, pulling a neat handkerchief from his pocket to wipe its already immaculate surface. “Well, my dearest,” he winks at his wife, “I see you knew what to do all along in welcoming guests—now our good friends, of course—into our home.” “I knew less than you think,” Dorothea replies. “Still, I am glad they accepted the invitation.” Hugging Casper, Little Penny approaches you. “Casper says we’re going to miss you, and so do all my toys. The castle is going to be lonelier when you go home.” As she says this, her parents exchange looks with you and at the sign. “Hmmm, Castle Haven has been shut off from the world for quite some time,” Dorothea murmurs aloud. Then she smiles and winks. “Perhaps we should do our part to open our doors and invite other guests to enjoy the wonders of our home.” She glances at you. “And I can thank you for that inspiration as well.” In the hours that follow, your group members enjoy different amusements throughout Castle Haven without fear. From exploring the idyllic stretches of the garden (and perhaps even dozing off for a while on one of the tree-themed benches), to listening as instruments from the staircase up to the tower join Maestro in performances, to have Mario and his cook fragrant dish after the next, to spending time in the library with cat companions, among other entertainments—the time seems to move quickly. Dorothea and Lucas even conduct your group, at one point, to a grand ballroom towards the end of the castle, complete with a crystalline chandelier, where the toys alternate between invitations to dance with you (which they are surprisingly good at) and putting on elaborate performances for your amusement on a small stage on one end of the room. Eventually, however, the skies grow dark, and you can feel the tug of gentle forces that propel you to leave Castle Haven—for your time in this world is nearing its conclusion. Sensing this shift in the atmosphere, the Mariposa family escorts you to the front of Castle Haven once again, and there you receive warm hugs and copious amounts of gratitude from them. “Be safe on your next journey,” Dorothea wishes. “Best of luck, whatever you do next,” Lucas adds, “although from what we’ve seen, you ought to be just fine.” “Have fun!” Little Penny says. “Thanks a bunch for everything!” Casper mewls in farewell from where he dangles in Little Penny’s arms. The gates at the entryway open, leading into a foggy portal—but each of you sees your home through it. All that is left to do, then, is depart, listening to the happiness of miracles made real even as you step through past… …The End******EpilogueWeeks later…Two friends travel through Curlicue Woods, following a narrow path. “We left the town of Haven more than two hours ago, and we still haven’t reached this castle place yet,” Wispy grumbles in jingling tones. As a dragonfly in the most literal sense, she has a tiny, serpentine body—which emits a soft red glow—veined wings, and curly antennae. “Actually, I’m almost certain we are lost. Mr. Gimble could have at least come along since he says he has been here before. Right, Gargle?” In comparison to Wispy, Gargle seems perfectly at ease as she skips up the sloping path, pulls an empty wooden cart, gazes about at the forest in wonder. A sign on the cart’s side advertises a shop called “Unique Toys” and features a jack-in-a-box sitting in a front window display alongside teddy bears and other delights. Like her companion, though, Gargle must have been a peculiar sight for the Haven residents, as a short figure dressed in lavender robes and a floppy hat that hides her face—except for the tips of two stony ears and two blue orbs for eyes. A green scarf wrapped about her neck flutters in the breeze, and at a round light glows at the end of her whip-like tail. “Hey, have you heard anything I’ve said?” Wispy asks. Gargle gurgles a reply. Wispy sighs. “Yes, I know this trip is all for the sake of picking up toys donated for our shop, and that Mr. Gimble entrusted us with this task because he thinks we might enjoy the vacation and a chance to visit his old friends—who are apparently setting up a hotel of some sort.” She pauses. “Of course, there was also the letter from one of the proprietors, Mrs. Mariposa, suggesting that some of our Reader friends might have come here too, at least for a while. It certainly sounds like them, anyway.” Another gurgle. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry for getting grouchy. It’s has just been a long journey.” She lands on the brim of Gargle’s hat and remains there during the final stretch of their journey to the top of the slope, where a majestic castle stands. The sign placed on the front gates reads: Castle Haven Inn: Welcomes All Guests. Marveling at the fantastical garden on their way to the porch, Wispy murmurs, “I’ve got to hand it to them, this place is beautiful.” Gargle gurgles in agreement and knocks on the door. During the interval, she reaches into one of the sleeves of her robe, pulls out a clay tablet and stylus, and writes: "Hello, my name is Gargle, and this is my fairy godmother Wispy. Mr. Gimble sent us for the toy donation. Please, and thank you!" After almost a minute, there comes the sound of heavy footfalls echoing along a corridor somewhere behind the door, as echoing giggles ring out. Wispy and Gargle exchange confused glances right before the front door creaks open to reveal a toy doll on the threshold. The doll flicks her bright lavender eyes up towards them, and something in her gaze makes them both retreat a step. “Err,” Wispy stares, but then soon recovers as she clears her throat and states, “Hi there, we’re here on behalf of Mr. Gimble from Unique Toys, and we’re—” “Oh, goodie,” the doll intones. She starts to lift upwards as if tugged by invisible strings, golden locks whipping wildly about her head, and says in deep tones, as behind her a chorus of squeaks, jingles, and various noises ring out, “All the toys and I have been expecting you for so long!” A second later, Wispy and Gargle find themselves overtaken by an avalanche of plushies, clinging and making all matter of excited sounds on the front porch. They manage to get their heads free just in time to notice another figure step into the doorway, accompanied by an old gray cat. “Penny,” she chides, “what have I said about greeting guests as a doll?” “Sorry, Mama,” Penny whirls about, and in a flash of light she transforms into a young girl. “It was easier to gather the toys that way. Besides,” here she gives Wispy and Gargle a mischievous grin, “it’s kind of fun to have tea parties as a doll when I’m not cursed.” Then she laughs and runs back inside. “I’ll tell Daddy they’re here!” “What a peculiar child,” Wispy mutters, as the toys climb into the wooden cart, “and did she say cursed?” “It is a long story,” the woman says with a small smile. “How about you step inside? My name is Dorothea Mariposa, and we have a lot to discuss. Casper can keep an eye on the donations to make sure they don’t wander off.” Apparently still somewhat bewildered, Wispy and Gargle walk inside, while Casper curls up near the cart and falls asleep. The front door creaks shut, and behind it another story starts, filled with choices that flow after each other like magic and could lead in any number of directions. But such a thing is just perfect for this Castle of Countless Compositions....
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