The House

You push open the doors and marvel at how heavy they are — you get the feeling you might need to focus on your upper body strength some more. 

You expect the interior of the mansion to be decrepit, but instead it’s welcoming. There’s very little light, especially with the shuttered windows, but even so there’s enough of a day glow inside that you can see most things with enough clarity to make do. 

You step into the foyer, your feet sliding over the inlaid, polished wood floors. Honestly, it looks as if someone had just waxed the entryway with how shiny it is. You stand in the center of the inlay design, something that looks like a Celtic knot of some sort, maybe an abstract ouroboros. Directly ahead of you extends a sweeping staircase. It gives you the impression that some princess will descend it any moment, her skirts billowing out around her, the train of her gown gracing the tops of the stairs behind her with every practiced step. Of course, no one is coming down the stairs.

To your right appears to be some sort of sitting room. You wrack your brain for the right word, feeling that a house as old as this one must have a special word for that type of room. A reception room? The salon, maybe?

To your left extends a hallway, the first door gives off a particularly interesting aura. In fact, you feel drawn to it, like it’s the reason you’re here.

As you turn your head to look around you once more, you catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure ascending the last few steps of the staircase and disappearing out of view. A trick of the light or an overactive imagination? 

Or is it the person who sent for you?