Her house was neat. Impossibly so, especially considering the stagnant state of town and the cavalcade of needy that shuffled through her arched doors. It was midday as her sons, foolish boys that looked more like a memory everyday, were out inflicting their presence out on the town, even as daily the town inflicted it’s way back through fools and the fearful.
Her house was neat. A by product of immaculate attention and wealth that the town had mostly forgotten outside the Baroness. The town always felt like it expected to be older money than it was, and she was happy to be one source of whispers. Both in, and out. And today the whispers grew louder.
Her house was neat. Because she needed it to stay that way. Follow the rules. Do not stand out despite name and deed seeming so loud before that fool of an inquisitor and her bold strokes that left cloven into her two narrow categories of the world with a fervent bloodlust. It’s a shame that the lady inquisitor made such a mess.
Her house was neat; before he came to visit. He knew subtlety when he wished, though a vampire’s subtlety is not the same. He spoke in honeyed words, the same as the first time he spoke to her as such a young girl with no view of the world but sadness. And suddenly Lady Wachter remembers, all those years before when she first knew the beauty and the idyllic danger of her lord… And how their house had been… So messy.
It had been years before the signs of blood left the bedroom. But those years were buried under more. Now his confidant voice leaves again, leaving her alone in the midday dark of a briefly empty home, a powerful woman of rumor exhaling to herself. She whispers something to the obscure space of the passing day. And though I apologize, I do not know it’s contents dear listener, because for once on Innistrad, no one heard it.
For when they’d come, the house would be neat.