The Abandoned House sits on the western riverband of the Sprawled Vine River, on the outskirts of
The Stilted Village. A cluster of treets shelters the home from the river, but the house itself sits upon a plain landscape populated with large rocks, hillocks, and a green carpet of moss. It is belived to be the previous residence of
The Boy who Glowed.
The house is a small cabin, no more than two rooms and a bathroom at most, and although it isn't derlict or burnt, it has been defaced and abused intentionally in other ways. The most striking vandalism are words, written over and over in huge red writing: "Will you cry for me? Will you cry for me?"
The cabin has an intact front door, and several windows with missing glass panes - the ground beneath covered in ice like shards that both glimer in the light and threaten easy slicing of flesh.
Inside
Inside, the first room contains a hearth, some wooden furniture, and a desk covered in art supplies. The walls are smothered in unframed paintings, and every available surface is filled with clay sculptures. The tone of the art seems both manic and depressed - paintings of figures curled up, with a single hand outstretched towards another indifferent figure, sculptures of angry people, screaming their despair and rage to the skies.
There are two doors, one is ajar, and leads to a bathroom. The other is closed, but through the layout of the building Klik-Klak summises this door leads to another larger space.
The second room is a bedroom. where thick fabric cover the windows - the only light entering is through gaps in the walls and door. A bed is pushed up against two walls with unmade blankets and pillows, to it's side is a small table with a single draw. The draw is crammed full with paper and notebooks. There are other cabinets and chests in the room - all overfilled.
Paintings
Paintings and drawings cover the cabins walls and floors, mostly of vibrant reds and violets, with black and white used to emphasise.
The most striking pieces of art are located in the cabin's bedroom. One wall stands out from the others, simply because the pictures there look deliberatly hung, and the wall is actually visible around them. There are four of them, a linked series. Each one shows the same place, a clearing in a wild orchard, with several semi-permenant huts built around the side. A gathering is taking place in each one. In the first, people gather around the outskirts with smiles on their faces. At the center stands a young boy, who appears to be glowing. In the second picture, the crowd is gathered at the center, embracing a different, equally glowing child. Hidding in trees, the glowing boy hides, peering at the group longingly. The third shows a different view of the clearing - you see the boy from the first picture looking past a tree into the space, where people are dancing and laughing. In the final picture, the boy stands alone in the clearing - there is no one else there. He is no longer glowing.
Diaries
Diary 1
Entry 1:
"Mother Herron saw me today. I had a flower ready. She refused to take it."
Entry 2:
"I painted the sun today. It burnt my eyes each time I looked at it. But the rendition became beautiful."
Entry 3:
"The village was loud today. I tried and tried and tried, but the silence is just too much. I walked the path.... it's even muddier than last year..... towards the town. I saw them all, their mouths were curled in smiles, their arms and hips swinging as though joyous, but I know they lie. They still yearn for the glow they stole from me."
Entry 4:
"I walked to the mesmeric garden today. The stone paths were the same. I started at the north, through the yellow flowers, bordered with violets - small, but always my favourite. The shivered in the wind - like me, hating the touch. As I walked, each daffodill turned to grey. I alone was here to watch. I gave them a kiss, before moving deeper into the gardens. No one saw me. No one wanted to."
Entry 5: "I was bad today. If I still lived there, I would have been punished. But I am not expected to follow their strange elven rules, after all, I am not one of them. That is the whole point. The problem. The swelling that prevents the garment from fitting. I felt nothing as I watched the lost child. I did nothing to save them, to lead them back home. After all, I am alone, so being lost cannot be terrible."
Entry 6: "They came here today. Ten of them. I was surprised that I could still count. It was about the missing child. They didn't even speak to me. They just opened my door, tramped on my drawings, emptied by drawers, ripped up the floor boards. But their child wasn't there. They left me to clear up without even a word of conversation, not even a single answer to my questions, or a rebuke to my spiteful protest. I imagine how they would react should I do the same to their homes. But that is not the point, for I am not one of them. It doesn't matter."
Entry 7: "Yesterday burned inside my heard, inside my head all last night. I was sleepless, yet dreamed not the visions of the day, but the feelings. I am a monster. I realise it more and more every day. How I wish for them to hurt. It is an enigma to me. I am so desperate for their love, that the lack of it turns to hate. I haven't left the house today. I paint, and I paint, and I paint."
Entry 8: "I went to the village today. I didn't care. I just walked in, I didn't hide, I didn't ask, I just walked in, past their houses, through the clearing, and up to the long house. I ate the food left out there, and sat upon the stair, looking at them all, hidden in their homes. I smell fear on them. Fear of a small boy. Well, perhaps I am not small anymore. I do not know, perhaps I have grown since they threw me out. There is not one anymore to tell me if I can grown. When I had finished eating, I walked past the homes I hadn't yet seen. I walked up to one, where that girl lived, and looked through the window. They fled into another room, but I inhaled their presence from the room they vacated. A space of a warm fire, blankets, chairs where they have to sit so close to fit. Feeling one anothers presence - their aura. I would call it their glow had they had any left. I wonder if they miss it?"
Diary 2
“Entry 1
I am the boy with the vibrant glow, that is who I am. I do not know where I came from. I do not remember. I have found this place, a place of people. The people have given me blankets and a floor under a roof to sleep on. It is nice.
Entry 2
They told me they would hold a welcome gathering for me. I was placed in the centre of a clearing. People surrounded me at a distance, watching me. I guess this is a welcome. It was lonely to be watched. I would rather be standing with them.
Entry 3
My blanket place has been moved. I am not on a floor under a roof in the place where other people are anymore. I was given a floor under a roof of my own. I can see them in their own places, groups or them. They make each other smile.
Entry 4
They hug. I have seen it. I thought… I guessed. I am not allowed to hug. I frightened them. I was told to go into my space with the floor and the roof for the day, to let them calm down.
I never knew that people were warm.
Entry 5
There is a big party tomorrow. The lord of this land and his heir are visiting. They said I will be shown off.
Entry 6
I did not enjoy the party. I was looked at. But I can see them talk and laugh together, yet no one talks or laughs with me. I do not understand. The lord did not find me interesting. But his heir did. Hunter. He wondered where I came from, apparently I am not of his court. I do not belong.
Entry 7
I will continue to try. I will learn why they don’t love me. I am so cold. It doesn’t matter how close to the fire i sit, the chill is in my spirit. It is only warmed when I burn myself.”
Diary 3
Entry 1: I woke up feeling so cold. It was dark. I had never experienced dark before. I was scared. But soon I became angry. I realised what they had been trying to do to me all these months. The tests. The magic. The observations. I will venture out tomorrow to check whether I am correct.
Entry 2: They stole my glow. They gave it to her. I feel empty. It's like I can't feel the floor beneath my feet or the breeze in my hair. I want to be angry again. But I am not. I am just... empty.
Entries 3 and 4 are difficult to read, but it is possible to learn that they describe how the boy attempted to firstly beg for his 'glow' to be returned, and then tried to actively steal it, the method of this is unclear.
Entry 5: Leaving is the only option. But I want what was mine back. This is their fault. They did this. And now I suffer.
Entries 5 and 6 are also difficult to read. The writer describes preparing to leave the village, packing his meagre possesstions. On the way, he attempt to steal back his glow again by drinking blood. Garret notes that the words surrounding this passage seem filled with remorse.
Entry 7: I have made it across the river. As I stepped over the waves, I saw her face... the face of her soul as she floated along the bottom. Back to the magic. That is all I am doing. Moving the magic around. I found an old hunters cabin, right on the courts outskirts. I can live here. And no one will be able to take anything from me, because know one wants to know I am alive.
Books
Fall Children
In a hidden glade where the forbidden beings play,
Four forgotten children escaped neglect to make their own way.
Beneath dying leaves and a shattered sky so mild,
They danced on the shards of their pain as the autumn's reckless child.
With mischief twinkling in their hearts, damage in their eyes,
They crafted their twisted art from across the worlds demise.
In the splinters of the cities and halls that they had felled,
Their creativity blossomed, silenced hearts given way to tell.
The first, a shadowed dreamer with a heart so wild,
Collected elven bones, teeth, and shoes compiled.
From murder and destruction, a masterpiece did arise,
A sculpture born of the frozen children’s goodbyes.
The second, a trembling painter with fingers untamed,
Dipped in the hues of their families blood reclaimed.
With each stroke, a canvas of chaos unfurled,
As they painted the dance of a broken and lonely world.
The third, a poet with words like the breeze,
Weaved verses from death mothers to the fallen kings.
A symphony of loneliness, destruction and creation,
In the poetic realm, their grief found foundation.
The fourth, a sculptor with a vision clear,
Molded remnants of nature, nothing to fear.
From shattered dragons skulls to butchered skins,
A tapestry of beauty, uniquely entwined.
In their wake, destruction wore an artful guise,
A paradox unveiled, a creative surprise.
For these fall children, a tale to unfold,
Of art born from chaos, of stories untold.
With laughter echoing through the autumn air,
They bathed in the terrible beauty of what wasn't fair.
For in the wreckage of their previous lives, creativity thrived,
Fall children of art, our spirits glow deprived.
As seasons changed and victims found flight,
The fall children laughed and vanished into the night.
Leaving behind a gallery of their own gruesome making,
A proud and loved testament to the wretched art of breaking.
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