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[right][@FernStone][@Rekkuza][@Skai][code]Monday April 14th, 13 Mourningdove Lane[/code][/right][hr][color=A9A8AF]
The foyer of 13 Mourningdove Lane was a place of hushed, antiquated grandeur, where time had settled thick as dust over the walls, smothering it in a dim, uneasy quiet. The sconces, wrought from tarnished brass, flickered with weak, dying flames, their light failing to reach the high, arched ceiling where cobwebs hung like ghostly veils. Tapestries, their once-vivid colors now faded to shades of muted sorrow, draped the walls, their woven figures frozen in scenes of battles lost to history. Between them, oil portraits loomed, their subjects long-dead but still watching, still waiting. The heavy scent of old paper and something fainter—something damp and earthen, as though the house itself had been exhumed from the past—curled at the edges of every breath.

A small group had already gathered, their voices murmuring low, swallowed by the cavernous silence of the house. The floor groaned under shifting weight, the warped wood betraying each restless movement. Happy stood just beyond the doorway, taking in the unfamiliar faces, but his gaze found familiarity in one. Emmy. For a moment, he simply looked at her, taking her in like one might take in an old photograph rediscovered in a forgotten drawer—something once known and half-remembered, something softened by time but still unmistakably the same. The light caught on the contours of her face, her sharp jawline, the slight quirk of her lips. She was smaller than he remembered, or maybe he had simply gotten taller.

Happy blinked, the corner of his mouth pulling up. [color=856F45]“6'2" last time I checked."[/color] he joked, continuing in the same, playful cadence, [color=856F45]"No one’s really called me that in ages,”[/color] he admitted, scratching the back of his head. [color=856F45]“Only my parents. And my grandparents. But I'll make an exception for you though. Only you.”[/color] He said, letting that flirtatious air seep through.

But Happy noticed when Emmy grinned, but it faltered at the edges. A flicker of something passed over her face, dimming her expression as she spoke of vague difficulties. The shift in her composure didn’t go unnoticed. The humor in Happy’s face softened, replaced with quiet concern. Instinctively, he took a step forward, looking down at her. 

His voice was gentle, careful not to pry but still offering space for honesty. [color=856F45]“I get it, y’know. The whole… magic thing. It’s a lot.”[/color]

Emmy didn’t answer right away. Perhaps she wasn’t ready to.

The lights in the foyer flickered and dimmed as the door creaked open, another arrival stepping into the house. Almost unconsciously, Happy moved closer to Emmy, his body angling protectively in case the situation turned south. The place felt like it was waiting, holding its breath along with the rest of them. But at Emmy's murmured joke, Happy exhaled, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly. He turned to her with a small, sweet smile. [color=856F45]“Guess I’ll just have to take some photos, put the place up for auction.”[/color] He rattled the camera slung over his back playfully. [color=856F45]“Real fixer-upper, but with the right marketing? Could be a dream home.”[/color]

A girl nearby—Lena—snorted about being the Archivist and Happy laughed, easy and bright. Even in the undercurrent of unease, he let himself enjoy the moment, never one to let tension steal the light. But then—he noticed the air stirred. A flicker of blue flame bloomed before them, weightless, untethered. It danced in front of Happy for a moment, casting a strange glow on his face, its movement deliberate, sentient even. The tall one, Jackson, referred to it with a pet name and Happy thought that perhaps it was a living flame. A will-o'-wisp.

His breath hitched slightly as he stared at it, mesmerized. His fingers twitched toward it, drawn by something both primal and childlike, a curiosity that hummed beneath his skin. He wanted to touch it, to see if it would burn, if it was real. As the others began introducing themselves, the spell broke slightly. Happy listened, grinning as he waited for his turn. When it came, he spread his arms grandly.

[color=856F45]“Happy Padmanabhan,”[/color] he said, voice warm and full of mirth. [color=856F45]“The reincarnation of Rama himself.”[/color] He paused, then winced slightly. [color=856F45]“That was a bad joke. But hey—”[/color] He held up a hand, fingers flexing, and from the air, light coalesced into a spectral bow, shimmering with something celestial. [color=856F45]“I can make a bow out of starlight. I think it’s starlight, anyway. Still figuring that part out.”[/color] he said, allowing the bow to flicker out of existence as quickly as he had conjured it.

[hr]
Above them, in the heavy gloom of the second-floor balcony, unseen eyes watched.

Azure Roux leaned against the rail, black mink fur swallowing him into the darkness, his presence indistinguishable from the shadows pooling at his feet. The upstairs was even less lit than below, the candlelight failing to reach the corners where time had settled thick. No one had noticed him. Not yet. He preferred it that way.

He observed them all with mild amusement, a silent collector taking stock of the odd assortment of guests. He recognized none of them—save for one.

Happy.

A peculiar name.

But for all his interest in the attendees, Azure’s true curiosity lay elsewhere. The Archivist. The unseen host of this strange gathering. Whoever they were, they had orchestrated this rendezvous, and that alone was enough to pique Azure’s intrigue.

Then—something shifted.

Down below, one of the guests—Matt—stiffened.

Azure’s violet eyes narrowed slightly. The man’s head turned, his posture tense, muscles coiled like a predator catching a scent. Azure tilted his head, intrigued. He had not expected anyone to notice him.

A low growl rumbled from Matt’s throat.

Azure let out a faint chuckle, stepping slightly forward into the faint light. [color=714F8E]“How bestial,”[/color] he murmured, voice smooth and amused. [color=714F8E]“You certainly know how to spoil the suspense.”[/color]

And then—

He stepped off the railing.

For a moment, it looked as though he would plummet, swallowed whole by the yawning space between the floors. But instead, he descended slowly, effortlessly, gravity bending to irrelevance. His coat fluttered slightly, a ripple in the air, as he hovered just above the ground, floating as though the very idea of touching the floor was beneath him.

He inclined his head in a slow, sweeping bow.

[color=714F8E]“Azure,”[/color] he greeted, voice a velvet hum. [color=714F8E]“A pleasure.”[/color]

His eyes flickered in the dim light, otherworldly and unreadable. Azure was a mystical beauty, that was undeniable. Those violet eyes of his lingered, deliberate—Belladonna, Emmy, Happy… and Matt. At the latter, his gaze sharpened with something peculiar before he drifted to the side, no longer at the center but still present, still watching.

The moment lingered just a second longer before a sharp voice shattered it.

[color=475ca0]“Will you fucking shut up for one minute?”[/color]

The words cut through the space, and Azure turned, his expression unruffled but his head tilting slightly in curiosity.

His lips curled, just ever so. [color=714F8E]“Ah. Was that meant for me?”[/color] His voice was strange, mysteric, as if he found the question itself amusing.

He was beginning to enjoy this. The pieces were shifting into place, each guest falling into position. And somewhere in the belly of this house, the Archivist waited.

This, Azure thought, would be interesting indeed.


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