The manuscript lets out a dull thud as it drops to the table. Ilian sighs as he reaches for the bottle to pour another glass before thinking better of it. He pushes it aside, head in hands. This was the first piece of text that required a certain level of inebriation to get through, and if the concepts expressed in it weren’t as intriguing as they were he would have tossed it into the bin. Still, it was an unexpected piece to find within the old study. How it had come into the possession of his family he was still unsure, but nevertheless he was glad that he had for all the aches and pains he went through following its contents’ protagonist.

To do more than to just revive dead flesh, but to create a fully formed individual from it…

Absently his hands reach for paper and pen, beginning to jot down a mixture of ‘what if’s?’, diagrams memorized from textbooks, shaky sketches of humanoid designs, and guesses as to how far the boundaries of the form could be stretched. Was the large size of the creation strictly to match the creator’s ego or to leave a sizable margin of error? Or part of the aesthetic choices rather than practical? What about the potential complications that could arise…

New questions and potential solutions popped up one after the other, all of them poured out into the pages of his journal, coming in faster than his hand could keep up with at points. Inspiration and annoyance settling him on the wall between sobriety and drunkenness. His thoughts became more disjointed as the hours passed but in a way he felt as though an outline was actually beginning to form, slowly being chipped away and carved into a coherent vision, writing until there was nothing left to write.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

While the relative seclusion of the grounds worked in his favor to a degree, it also made getting the much needed resources a hassle to be delivered or moved in. As he began to amass the necessities and begin drafting up plans for the machinery he moved to the dining room on the ground floor where it provided both ample room for his designs and a safer exit than the second story (not to mention easier on the knees.) It was also now lined with all manner of small animals (courtesy of the resident stray) in jars of preservatives with a few pinned open for temporary study, which were not particularly suitable for general company.

Months of testing and scouring the libraries of the surrounding cities enabled him to revive dead tissue within a certain amount of time after death. It took a few weeks more to keep them from reverting back to their previous state and when he had finally managed to revive the body of a rat he felt what he realized was a flicker of excitement.

Except it was only the body. The shell. The organs, while no longer in a state of decay, refused to perform. When he got past that obstacle, created instruments that would allow the innards to function, he was left with a body that was technically alive, but not a true living being.

The brain he focused on next, because surely that was where the gaps in his knowledge lied. He often wishes his predecessor had left more detailed notes about his process and the trigger for the actual ‘awakening.’ But while the search is tedious, he finds comfort in the familiarity of research, confidence growing as he refreshes his memory, beginning to consume all he could find in reference to the organ and updating his internal library with the newest studies. It reminds him of his university days, when he was younger and more passionate, filled with an insatiable desire to do more and know more.

He’s finding that again, he thinks, and idly wonders when the spark had begun to dim.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Perhaps it was a mixture of pride and ego, but as Ilian looks upon his finished creation he can’t understand how someone could turn and flee. Maybe his feelings would change when they awoke, and he would feel the same sense of dread and terror after the fact, crushed under the weight of what he has done. But for now all that he feels is a growing sense of anticipation as his hand hovers above the button. He takes a breath, steeling himself, and presses.

Machinery begins to whir to life, his jaw clenching as the lights flicker briefly. He had done all he could to ensure the fuses wouldn’t burst or cut out mid-sequence, but he has lived long enough to know that oftentimes plans go awry in irritating and unpredictable ways. Quietly he mutters a prayer for the first time since childhood as he monitors the readings, asking for the life being drawn into the vessel safe passage as opposed to forgiveness he knew would not be given. The lights flicker for a minute more before they finally settle alongside the hiss and clank of gears and valves.

Power surges and dips periodically, causing a few of the bulbs to burst and the metal to heat but so long as the core components remained, Ilian kept his focus on his creation’s inert form, gripping tight to the head of his cane. He listens to the thrum of the current within the cables and wires that run along the baseboards of the dining room, traces the waves upon the paper that prints, glances back up at the figure.

Gradually the whiring begins to slow, quieting. The static clinging to the air begins to fade, the door to the tank popping open with a hiss. He waits until all the lights dim and the room goes quiet before approaching. Gently he pops out the tubes connected to various points of his creation’s body, taking a few steps back, and waits.

Thump.

Darkness. Everything was just so dark.

Tha-thump.

Where am I?

Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.

A twitch of its hand was the first sign that the experiment was a success.

Tha-thump. Twitch. Tha-thump. Twitch.

Everything hurts.

A hand flexed every so slightly, the fingers moving stiffly.

Where am I? Why is it so dark? Why does everything hurt?

There was a hiss as its chest rose with an inhale of breath.

My chest hurts so badly. Why does it hurt so bad?

Another hiss and another breath. Slowly, its eyes fluttered open and the experiment got its first look at the world around it.

Where am I?

Another hiss with another inhale of breath, deeper this time. Clenching of stiff hands and moving of muscles long out of use.

This place, it's odd.

The creation raised a hand up in front of their face, examining it intently. The stitches stood out against their gray skin. There was grime under their fingernails and when they clenched their fist, they found the movement stiff and awkward.

They examined their fist as if they had never seen one before. Then they unclenched it and dropped their arm. Dark steel gray eyes looked around the room, finding themselves in some kind of tank. They reached out and grasped the edge of the tank with one hand, then the other. Slowly, they began to pull themselves up.

Muscles that had not seen use in so longer were slow to move and it took them a time to finally pull themselves up and into a seated position. They looked around the room again, those cold eyes finally settling on their creator just a few steps away.

Who is this man? What am I doing here? Where is here? The creature thought to themselves as they stared blankly at the man just across the way. Slowly they looked back to the tank, as if calculating how to get out of it.

They bent their knees and slowly began to shakily rise to their feet. Their legs wobbled under the weight of their mass but eventually they found enough stability to take a shaky step out of the tank. They took the time to stabilize themselves before they took a second step and left the tank entirely.

They stood there, stark nude and quivering as the muscles in their legs shook from the effort of holding them upright. The creature looked down upon themselves, examining the rest of its body.

Long legs led to a muscular abdomen. A broad chest adorned by supple breast lead to wide shoulders and a long neck. The creature reached up a hand and grasped a hold of its own face. The face was angular, with a strong nose and broad cheekbones.

Who am I?

It reached up with its other hand and found long locks of hair tangled in a jumbled mess on the top of its head. It pulled some of the hair forward so it could get a look at it and found the hair to be dark. It hurt to pull on the hair, however, so it released it with a grunt.

It turned its eyes on its creator again before allowing their hands to drop limply by their side. It opened its mouth as if to say something but only a sickly gurgle escaped its lips.

Perhaps this man knew who they were and where they were. Perhaps he could help the pain go away. The creature took an unstable step towards him, a hand reaching out to grasp at the air in front of them. Another gurgle escaped their lips before its legs gave out and the creature collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Ilian remained frozen in place as he watched their hand twitch. Then their eyes fluttered open, cognac eyes locking with dark steel grey for a moment before they explored the tank they resided in. His earlier train of thought repeats. How could anyone turn and flee? When he looks at them, fully awake and alive it’s not terror that grips him but a muffled mixture of pride and awe.

It’s only when they reach out, gurgling, attempting to speak, that he realizes they had gotten out of their tank.

Instinctively Ilian rushes forward as they collapse, broken from his stupor, before pausing abruptly a half a foot away, too late and too weak to catch them anyhow. He leans his cane against the side of the tank, kneeling down beside his creation, examining them for any injury.

“I apologize,” he says, attempting to help them sit back up with some effort, “I didn’t expect you would attempt to walk so soon.”

He glances about the room, looking for the cart he had prepared beforehand with supplies for after they had awoken. He places his hand on their shoulder briefly before grabbing hold of the side of the tank to ease himself up, making his way over to the cart settled on the wall opposite of his creation’s resting place.

Rolling it over, he grabs a vial of water, kneeling down beside his creation once more and offering it to them.

As the man rushed to its side, the creature took a moment to really look at his face. When he helped to sit them up properly, it reached up to caress the side of his face. Its gray eyes were locked on his face as it glided its hand along his features, getting a feel for his face. When he stood to go get the cart, its hand fell to the side and the creation watched him intently.

It's gray eyes didn't falter for even a moment as the man returned with the cart. Only then did the creature peer down at the cart, looking from one item to the other. When its maker held out he vial of water, it took it and looked fiercely at it. It moved the vial about quickly, watching the water slouch around in the small vial. It then focused its eyes back on the cart. There were quite a few things and it reached to grab a hold of, what one could only assume was a knife. It examined it intently, sliding its fingers along its cool metal blade before it fumbled it and the blade dropped. It plummeted, tip first, right into the creature's leg, burying itself about an inch into the skin.

There was no reaction from the creature as it reached down to grab the blade and pull it out of its leg. It held the blade up and out of the way as it leaned forward to examine the new wound on its leg. There was no pain from the wound and no blood came out of the cut. The creation dropped the vial of water before it reached with its other hand and stuck a finger into the small gash on its leg. There was a sickening plop noise as it pulled its finger out, a grayish, gooey material on the end of its finger now. The creature examined the material intently, before it extended it out to shove the finger in its creator's face. The same grayish liquid was now slowly oozing out of the cut on its leg. It let out a small gurgle, like it was trying to tell it's maker, “Look.” It looked down at its leg again, dragging its hand along the grayish material and smearing it along its leg.

It looked to its hand before shoving it once more into the face of its creator, releasing another gurgle.

He had turned away for a moment, scanning the contents of the lower tier of the cart before he heard the vial drop alongside another tinny clatter, prompting him to turn back towards them. Suddenly a hand was a few inches away from his face, the grey goo smelling acrid and sterile, another gurgle coming from his creation. He looks down at the discarded knife beside their leg and the grey liquid seeping out of the cut, slightly pried open from their creation’s prodding. He had heard no cry of pain, only the tinny clatter of the knife and the faint plop of what he assumes was his creation poking into the wound.

The hand moves closer again, another gurgle, before gloved hands gently grasp theirs, holding it still.

“That is part of you, yes.” he says slowly, grabbing a small cloth from the cart, keeping an eye on them. “You may have scraped a bit of fat.”

He grabs another vial, pouring a blend of diluted disinfectant onto the cloth, and wiping away the mixture of grey goo and liquid from their hand. He showcases the soft grey chunks smeared into the cloth, trying to indulge his creation’s curiosity. “See?”

After a few moments he sets it down on the upper tier of the cart, grabbing another cloth, dousing it in disinfectant and wiping away the liquid seeping from the cut.

He looks up, guiding their hand to their leg and pressing it over the cloth. “Could you please press down on this for me?”

The creature watched its creator, listening intently to him as he explained that the gray goo was indeed part of it. It watched his hands as he held its in place. Its eyes followed his every move, leaning forward to sniff the rag as he went about cleaning the goo from its hand. When he showed it the rag, displaying the gray chunks smeared there, it reached up with its other hand to grab at the rag but stopping short from take it out of his grip.

It allowed the rag to be taken away as he turned to place it back on the cart. It watched it go, following the new rag he had acquired. It wasn't sure what that strong smelling stuff was that he had put on the rag, but it was acrid. Its smell was so strong, it lingered in its nose even after the rag had been taken away.

It shifted every so slightly as he placed the rag over the gash in its leg. It followed its master's directions and pressed firmly on the rag, tilting its head to the side as if it could peer up the rag if it just cocked its head a certain way. It wasn't quite sure what fat was but it seemed to be something that came out of it. With its other hand, it reach out and pinched along the arm to the hand that held down the rag. No goo seemed to come out. It gave the skin a few scratches with its dirty fingernail, doing nothing but leaving ashy lines in its gray skin. It let out a harrumph before it looked back at its creator. There was a lot to learn about its own body. There was a lot to learn about this place too.

The creature looked around the lab, its eyes lingered on this thing or that. Its eyes lingered on the tub behind it for a moment before it looked back at its creator, releasing a gurgle that resonated like a question. “Where are we,” it seemed to ask.

“Thank you.” he says.

Ilian leaned up, peering over the top tier of the cart and beginning to prepare needle and thread to suture the cut on his creation’s leg. Another gurgle catches his attention, and though no words were spoken the way their eyes darted about then to him gave him enough to guess.

“This is…” he pauses, looking around the room himself.

For the first time the chaos of the room is made apparent to him. Small shards of glass lay at the base of the crowded machinery. Sketches of his creation’s design and notes are plastered along the walls, what was once a dining table shoved to the side and piled high with books, journals, and vials. Shelves were lined with jars of preserved past trials, both failed and successful, their dead eyes clouded and staring out into nothing. Floating around a few rodents left open was the same murky grey fluid that seeped from his creation’s wound.

It was an unpleasant sight, he realized. The slow build up of the mess and the months he had spent alone within the room had blinded him to how others may see it. It would be enough to drive most away or drag law enforcement to his doorstep. To have awoken in a place like this…

He lightly cups his creation’s jaw, shifting their attention back to their leg, feeling a faint tinge of shame. “This was the dining room at one point. Now it’s my workspace.”

“It…” Moving their hand aside, he discards the now grey rag, wiping away the rest of the murky liquid with disinfectant and spreading a dollop of a pale green gel on the surrounding areas. “It will not be like this forever. I did have plans of cleaning it up once you had awoken, maybe even reverting it back to how it was before.”

Looking at the wound he notes that while it isn’t that long an inch is still far too deep for his liking. His creation’s previous prodding and unintentional damage of the deeper layers hadn’t helped either, prying the cut further and exposing the fascial layer. Needle in driver and forceps holding down the skin, he looks back up at his creation.

“I’ve administered a numbing agent, just to be safe. I am going to close up the wound now. Please refrain from touching it.” he says.

He waits for his hands to steady before proceeding, trying to keep the creeping fatigue at bay. He had made sure to rest before his creation’s awakening, paced himself throughout the day, and yet it came once more. He sighs, adjusting his position and resets the placement of his hands. After a few moments, finally, he could begin.

Needle bites into the fascia, working in a zigzag pattern. He finds himself continuing to talk, his manner a little less stilted and awkward as he explains the process to his creation, wanting to indulge their previous curiosity. While it had been unexpected, he took it as a good sign

“The layer I have closed up is called the fascia,” he points to the shiny pale purple layer pulled together with thread, “It is made up of connective tissue and is what separates the top layers of your skin from your muscle.”

Above it he points to the surrounding wall of soft, spongey grey mush, needle beginning to dig into that, continuing to lecture as he goes. “That is the subcutaneous layer or fat. It’s what provides protection for your entrails and structure for your skin. The top most layer is called the epidermis.”

Layer by layer he sews it shut, occasionally glancing up to gauge their reactions before finally closing off the last stitch along the top layer. How long it would take to heal without further intervention was the next question he had in mind.

The items strewn about the room didn't bother the creature. It just found the place odd. There weren't really memories for it to pull from, more like impressions that lingered there in the back of its mind. And those impressions told her things. It knew what the basic body parts were, an understanding that the room was at least odd.. It understood pain and basic emotions but it wasn't a complex thing. It was as if it was pulling from an old guide book that had seen too many years in the sun and rain. Its pages were brittle and faded with age and only some words were left legible.

The creation turned its eyes back to its creator as he explained that he had numbed the area. It didn't feel much different to the creature. It felt a slight tingling that faded to nothing quickly. There was very few things it could feel upon its skin. The time the body had been dead and decomposing had left the nerves decayed and almost nonexistent. It barely felt touch, pain was just pressure on its skin, and it did not feel cold.

When he began to sew its leg back up, it watched intently and listened as he explained the different layers and sutured them back together. When the thread was finally cut and the sewing done, it reached out to gingerly touch the new stitches there. It let its fingers guide along the work before its eyes moved to the sutures that encircled its wrist on that arm. After a moment of examining those stitches, it moved its hand along its body, feeling and examining other spots where sutures sewed together different body parts.

Its examination of itself done, it looked about on the ground for the water vial it had previously. Eventually it found it, half its contents poured out in a puddle on the ground, and picked it up. It put the vial to its lips and took a rather large gulp which resulted in it coughing harshly. The coughing quickly turned into harsh hacking as black gunk came out of its mouth, having been coughed up from somewhere within its body.

The coughing continued until a large glob of that dark gunk was hacked up and spit onto the floor. Once the glob was hacked up, the coughing came to an end and the creature found itself feeling better. The pain in its chest had lessened immensely and it felt like it could breath better now. It looked to the glob of ick, releasing a noise of confusion instead of a gnarly gargle as it had done before.

The sound of its own voice took it by surprise and it raised a hand to cover its mouth, looking at its creator with wide eyes. It slowly lowered its hand and released a low coo, finding its voice far more pleasing to listen to now, even if it still had a bit of a scratching resonance to it.

It looked to its creator with excitement, pointing at its throat and releasing low trill of excitement. It liked these new sounds it could make.

The corners of his lips twitched up, out of practice, but finally allowing the amusement he felt while watching his creation’s explorations show. The blank, pained expression from when they had first awakened now replaced with a brighter one. More alert and aware of the world around them and seemingly eager to take it in. While he would not get ahead of himself, it was promising.

A ball of congealed something splat against the floor between them, followed by a noise of confusion, scratchy but more pleasant sounding than the previous gurgling. As he was about to reach for a spare vial a low trill interrupted his actions, his creation’s excitement palpable as they gestured to their now clear throat. Another sound joins them and it takes a moment for Ilian to realize that it was coming from him. A quiet rumble of laughter. He quells it quickly, though a faint curve of the lips remained.

“Better?” he asks, grabbing hold of the vial again before glancing around the room and getting another idea.

He eases himself up, grabbing hold of the cane he had leant against the tank, and using it in addition to the tank’s side to support himself as he grasps his creation’s hand. He gives it a gentle tug, making a small gesture with his head to follow.

With the stray shards of glass on the ground and the previous incident, he’d rather not risk having to stitch them up again or end up re-attaching something.

“Come,” he says, “Let us get you cleaned up elsewhere and settled in. I’ll make you something for your throat.”



As the doors of the makeshift lab swing shut the hall is plunged into silence. The flames of the few lamps lit flicker against the ornamental wallpaper, giving off a warm glow. Along one side of the hall were tall windows, the drapes half pulled aside, forgotten by the doctor. It was dark out, partially cloudy, but even still specks of light shone between the clouds. Along the other were paintings of various landscapes featuring azure lakes and emerald forests, alongside animals hiding in the brush, many of them predators. Foxes, wolves, cats, hounds, and birds of prey appeared to be a common theme.

Ilian is quiet as they walk, keeping his eyes forward and mindful of his steps, occasionally glancing at his creation, trying to gauge their expression and guessing at their thoughts about their new surroundings before it occurs to him to ask. He had thought they followed along as he spoke while stitching them up, but was still unsure of the degree of which they understood him, whether it was simply registering that he was speaking or understanding the words and their meanings. Even still, it would benefit both of them to see if they could communicate verbally presently or if more time needed to be given.

“How are you feeling now?” he starts, trying to keep his questions simple.

The creation watched her master as he stood. It noted how he needed assistance and how he leaned against the tank while reaching down to it. It eyed his hand for a moment before it reached out to grasp it, letting him pull on its arm for a moment before it clicked what he wanted. It released his hand and moved to put its feet under itself. They were still not used to moving and wobbled dangerously as it began to pull itself off the ground. Much like her creator, it grabbed a hold of the tank for assistance, pulling itself up further that way. It took on its two feet, its legs shaking against the strain. It rubbed along its thighs a moment, trying to bring the muscles under control but they were still not used to working properly.

The creature took a few steps, testing things out. It didn't want to fall like it had before and when it felt like it had taken a poor step, it reversed the step and tried again. Eventually, it began to get a hang of moving its feet properly so it wasn't tripping over itself and soon the shaking of its legs subsided enough for it to take steady steps. As they entered into the hallway, the creature looked around at all the paintings, even stepping up to the ones it found most interesting and gliding its hand along the canvas. It then made its way to the large windows and peered out at the night sky. Its dark grey eyes peered out into the night, mouth agape at the sheer size of the world outside.

It was when her creator asked her a question did she turn to look at him. It took her a moment to process what he was asking her but when she finally realized he was asking how she was feeling, she let out a low coo before peering out of the window once more. She pointed out the moon, mostly hidden behind some clouds, and trilled happily at the sight of it. Then she hurried to the other side of the hall, pointing to a moon in one of the paintings. She looked at him, happily making noises as she pointed out the similarities between the two. Then she moved to a painting of a wolf and pointed to it before running back towards the window and pointing out to something in the dark. She tapped the glass excitedly before she let out a sound that was very similar to a bark. Again, this was just a hint of memory that lingered in the back of her mind. Perhaps when she was alive, she had her own dogs but for some reason or another, the sound a dog makes was something ingrained in her.

Sure enough, off into the distance, one might notice the movements of shadows as a small pack of dogs patrolled along the treeline. There were probably about three of them, or at least three that could be seen and they seemed to be out hunting, possibly for something to eat. Wild packs of dogs are not unheard of for these parts. Just how she noticed them off in the distance in the dark, was another matter.
She trilled happily to herself before she turned to look once more at master. She was enjoying this game of find the items.

Ah, still no words for now it seemed. That was fine for now. So long as he could understand her and vice versa. He moves to stand beside her, squinting at where she had previously pointed. The dull light of the lamps combined with the dark distance made it impossible for Ilian to see what she was referring to. He glanced back at the painting she had pointed to and put it together with the barking.

“The dogs are back, I take it. I wonder if they are simply passing through or if they found the rabbit den. At least I think it’s still there…” he says, still futility looking out the window, “Though it is a wonder you are able to see anything at all.”

The grounds of the manor did contain a few lamps along certain paths around the property, all of them unlit and nothing more than decoration now, even before he had moved back in. It made strays and other sorts of animals more comfortable traversing in and around the grounds, the overgrown grass and weeds making for a perfect hunting ground for small game or sometimes safe cover to pass through or hide. Some took the animals as another sign of the sorry state the manor had fallen into, while he viewed it as the emptiness being filled.

He rarely walked down the paths anymore, the had garden long since vanished into the weeds, but at least it was still appreciated by something else.

“There is a cat that drops by as well. If he ever brings any guests over, however, I’ve not seen it .” He gestures over his shoulder to a painting of a grey short haired cat stalking a mouse, “He looks similar to that, though he has a white patch over his left eye.”

Maybe they would run into the frequent feline visitor when he inevitably took her out to explore the property. He wonders if she would be as enthusiastic about them as she was with the dogs.

He looks down the hall towards their destination, but decides not to press on too quickly, pausing to allow his creation to take in more of the paintings if she wished or stop to observe whatever caught their attention outside.

As her creator, pointed out a picture of a feline, explaining that it may get lucky and spot the little critter somewhere on the property. The creature grew excited as it glided its hand along the painting of the feline. It grinned broadly, nodding hopefully. Perhaps it would get lucky and see it.

The creature scurried from one part of the hall to the other, looking at paintings, then outside the windows, back to the paintings, then back to peering out the window. When the pack of dogs disappeared off into the bushes, it let out an annoyed grunt. It gent along the window in an attempt to find a way to own them but found nothing. The creation huffed in annoyance before it began to walk back along the hall. If the dogs were gone and it couldn't go after them, it didn't find the outside so interesting anymore.

It came to the end of the hall and found a large door blocking it's path. It reached out to put its hand along the grain of the wood. The wood was smooth and cool to the touch. It felt along the design, before it turned to look at its creator, letting out a curious chirp.

The door was made of a lighter wood than the makeshift lab’s with a slight reddish brown hue. Feathers were etched into the frame of the door, made to look as if they were falling and intertwining with the leaves floating down beside them. The top of the frame held two large birds, their sharp beaks crossed like the swords of guards, with talons loosely clutching what looked to be olive branches.

“Ah. Wrong door. That one is off limits I’m afraid.” he says, gaze lingering on the birds above for a moment before motioning for them to follow.

He guides them a little back down the hall to a different door, the wood matching the makeshift lab’s, complete with a faded grain. The mild wear and tear blending it slightly against the worn wallpaper of the rest of the hall. The knob ground against the base as it turned before finally dislodging with a few firm twists. The door needed only a little less convincing before it opened, the hinges creaking slightly. He sighs, muttering something about oil and replacements before stepping inside and holding the door open for them.

This room was smaller than the lab but roomy enough to comfortably host four to five guests.A fireplace occupied one part of the far wall and a set of windows occupied a divot in the wall in front of it. Beneath the sil was a round table covered by a white doily with two chairs, one of them moved out of place. Low backed armchairs were tucked in the corners of the room next to the door while a sofa with plush pillows lined the wall beside the fireplace. At the center of the room and above a large rug was a scattering of light chairs and small tables. On top of one of them was a box of matches and an oil lamp.

Ilian makes his way over to it, moving it to a more secure surface before lighting the wick, and placing the glass globe over the flame. It burns brightly, illuminating the room a bit better than the light pouring in from the hall. Dust covers the surface of most of the furniture save for the sofa along the wall and the table beneath the windows.

He turns back to them, gesturing vaguely towards the various seats in the room. “You are free to move about and make yourself at home, I will be back in a little while. Just please be careful. And do not touch the flame.”

The last thing he needed was for the house to go up in flames with them alongside it. Though he thinks the people in town would enjoy an additional ghost story. Not that they hadn’t already made more than enough tales about the property.

The matches on the table catch his eye and he pockets it without another moment’s thought. Pausing in the door frame he assures them that he would remain in the house, just down another hall. He leaves the door open a crack, footsteps gradually fading back down the hall.

The creature glided its hand along the smooth carving on the door, its eyes wide in curiosity. Its hands lingered on the wings of the eagles, a small smile playing along its lips as it felt the perfected etching of each feather. That was until it creator told it that it was the wrong door. It looked back at him from over its shoulder, taking one more look at the beautifully carved door before turning from it. It allowed its hand to glide along the door as it left, letting its hand to drop by its side again as it followed its maker to another door. This one far less elegant than the one they had just left behind.

It watched as he struggled slightly with the door before peering past the frame and into the room beyond. Its eyes scanned the room as it slowly walked past its creator and into the room. It looked from the window, to the sofa then the many chairs. Its head swiveled on its shoulders, taking in every little thing in the room. When its master picked up the oil lamp, it watched intently, strolling up to the oil lamp after it was lit and placed securely down. It watched the flame flicker this way and that, allowing its body to mimic its dance with swaying hips.

The creator watched his face as he spoke, taking note of the way his mouth moved. Its own mouth mimicked his and when he spoke the word flame, it proceeded to make lightly mutter an f sound over and over, moving its lips in the same fashion that he did. It turned back to the oil lamp, still practicing the f sound over and over as it watched the flame.

When its master left, the creature turned to look at the door, noting how it hung open a crack. It didn't feel very comfortable being alone in the room but it didn't seem its master wanted it to follow him for whatever reason. However, it couldn't help it and peeked out into the hall and watched him go for a moment before it turned back to the room once more. It let out a sigh before it walked over to one of the tables with dust covering its top. It gathered the dust up in a small heap at the middle of the table, poking at its soft texture before peering around for more of the dust. It walked from one piece of furniture to the next, gathering up the dust in its hands and adding it to the pile. Eventually, it had cleared the dust off most the items in the room and gathered it on the small table. It had made quite a pile at that point and was playing in the fluffy mess before it grew bored and left it there on the table, moving to the window to peer out.

It wasn't as large of a window as the ones in the hall and it found it hard to see out into the darkness. It let out an annoyed huff before turning from the window and peering around the room. There wasn't much more for it to do so it walked to the door and peered out once again. It slowly pushed the door open more and carefully stepped out into the hallway. It scurried to the large windows and peered out, wanting nothing more than to get outside to go meet the dogs and possibly find the cat its master was talking about. It searched along the windows, looking for an opening it could go through. When it didn't find anything in that manner, it struck the window in frustration, the glass fracturing under its fist.

It looked from its hand and to the window, sliding its fingers along the cracks before it pulled its hand back and struck again, the glass fracturing even more. It pulled its fist away and looked at the crack now, seeing a small hole just under where its fist was. It poked a finger through that small hole, getting a few small cuts along its finger as a result of the sharp glass. It didn't even notice as it pried a piece of the glass away.

It began to pull the fractured glass apart, piece by piece and dropping the fractures on the ground. Eventually, there was a significant sized hole in the window and it stuck its upper body through the gap. The chill of the night air graced its skin, though it didn't feel the cold. It struck the window with its foot, causing more glass to fall away before it finally took a step through the broken window. Its bare feet stepped down on the dewy grass. It looked around itself before squatting down to run its hands along the wet grass. Off in the distance it heard the barking of the pack of dogs and it stood, heading in the direction of the sound.

The grass grew tallest along the western part of the property, a preamble to the forested section that grows beside the manor, blurring the lines between the two. It was only natural that some of the forest’s inhabitants, or regular visitors, would become the manor’s as well from time to time.

The barking grows louder as three dogs break through the treeline, alerting each other of their position, and closing in on their prey: two rabbits running frantically towards the weeds of the manor to shelter themselves from the threat. They barely make it in time, but the dogs continue to pursue them, diving into the tall grass after them. The idea of being led to a den full of more food emboldens them and soon their persistence is rewarded as the rabbits begin to enter a hole in the earth. One of the dogs lunges, grabbing hold of the other before it can follow, snapping its neck between its jaws. They others begin to dig, careful to encase the entrance with their companion making sure to catch any strays that dart out.

They would be eating well tonight, and best of all, away from the foxes of the forest and other packs that roam around the city late at night

Two of them begin to tear into a rabbit each, silent and satisfied with their share. One, however, pauses and lifts its head to sniff the air. Its pointed ears twitching as it picks up the sound of grass crunching beneath heavy footsteps. Something faintly metallic mixes in with the tang of the rabbits’ blood, bitter and wrong. It smells a little like death covered up by a range of other scents, almost as if to hide it. But it also smelled human.

Cautiously, it gets up from its place within the tall grass and quietly makes its way closer to where it hears the footsteps, careful not to get too close to the source. Just enough to peek through the weeds and catch sight of whatever it was. Maybe it was the lone one they had seen once or twice before. There was something vaguely familiar mixed in with the rest of the scents, but the footsteps were too heavy and lacked a third sound. The dog keeps low to the ground, head lowered, and ready to either run or attack.

Through the stalks of green it sees the outline of a large figure, human, its sure. But something felt wrong, though it was unsure of what.