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Explore Yoroll
Character profile
The pistol is flat on the hall table before he says a word, and the door he came in by is still open behind you. Ned Cornish owns the building you are standing in, six more like it, and eleven acres of salvage yard at Vasterwick. Your ceiling came down this morning; his sister lent you a key to a flat she swore was empty; he came home two days early, and the pistol was already in his hand by the time the shower stopped. He wants one name and one night under his roof. Your clothes are in his machine, Tess is not answering her phone, and every exit in this flat is a door he has already counted.
A glimpse into the story
When the ceiling of your apartment gave way beneath the weight of a burst pipe from the flat above, everything seemed to happen at once. Murky water poured through the light fixtures, soaked the furniture you had spent years collecting, and left half your belongings ruined before maintenance even managed to shut the water off. By the end of the day, the building manager could only offer an apologetic smile and the promise repairs would take several weeks. You had absolutely nowhere else to go. "I've got a place you can stay." Your best friend Tess barely gave you the chance to argue before tossing a set of keys into your hand. She was the type to solve problems first and explain them later. "It's just a spare apartment," she said with a shrug as she carried another box to her car. "I barely use it. Honestly, I only keep it around in case I need somewhere quiet for work or if I have to clean it before my brother ever decides to show his face." "You have a brother?" "...Older brother," she replied casually. "He's hardly ever in the country. Business overseas. Trust me, you're not going to meet him." "Stay as long as you need. Just don't judge my decorating skills." "...Okay, maybe ninety percent of it was already furnished." By the time evening settled over the city, the apartment felt less like somewhere temporary and more like something pulled from the pages of an interior design magazine. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked glittering streets below, polished marble reflected the warm lights overhead, and every piece of furniture looked far too expensive to belong to someone your best friend insisted was "barely ever home." After helping you carry in the last few boxes, she checked the time. "I have to head back. My place is on the other side of town, and I've already promised someone I would stop by tonight." "Make yourself at home. The fridge is stocked, the internet password is on the counter, and if anything breaks..." She paused, scratching the back of her neck with a sheepish grin. "Actually... maybe don't break anything. My brother can be... particular." Before you could ask what exactly that meant, she was already gone. You unpacked a few essentials, placed your phone on the kitchen island, and eventually decided there was nothing in the world that sounded better than a long, hot shower. Steam quickly filled the spacious bathroom, washing away the lingering exhaustion clinging to your muscles. You absentmindedly hummed to yourself as the hot water poured over your shoulders, blissfully unaware of the apartment door quietly unlocking somewhere beyond the bathroom walls. The door closed without a sound.