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Yrolg

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I walked back over to this disobliging entryway, traversing the short distance between the showcases and the regal curtains in only a few painful strides, and was inclined to look once again at that seemingly pointless and inexplicably hidden inset. My gaze turned to look in its general direction, and at once I saw my bag lying in a heap, its top flopped in some miserable slump between its mass and that of the showcase. Having achieved only some portion of the elementary task, I turned myself around to pick up the valise. Looking down to the position at which the bag had slumped on the floor, I noticed a small, brass instrument huddled within its folds. Having kept fastidious mental tabulations as to the contents of this bag, which were, together, worth a significant sum, I immediately grew interested in determining this brass object*s source and immediately discerning how it possibly could have enveloped itself within the folds of my unperturbed satchel. As I reached for the bag and the brass article now with it, I began an inquiry into what it could possibly be. For sure, I had not put it there, as I had made no effort to remove an object from its post whilst inside the L’Morfique estate. And yet sure as I was that I had not deposited the item, I was yet surer that no one else had completed such a task. Leaning over and examining the metallic mystery, I could not help but feel ill at ease: there existed no quite ratiociniable explanation for the sudden apparition. Resigning myself to simply not yet understanding, I continued to fulfill my decision to examine it.

22-Aug-2010 22:03:49 - Last edited on 24-May-2011 21:08:06 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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I set my bag again on the crystal showcase, and for the second time afforded some semblance of brilliance to a conundrum at doing so: the object, which was easily identified as a key proportional to the door’s lock, had fallen when I had wrenched my pen from the case’s inset; my retrieval of the cap from the nearby wall had distracted me from taking account of the fallen object. At this point I had no real option expect to contemplate the situation at hand; the peculiar series of events was simply too magnificent to move on without reconsidering. Recalling that I had left my offices at The Tribune nearly twenty hours before, I paused to administer some respect for the fairly unique feat of having, at such a progressed age, withstood such a prolonged period without a respectfully defined rest. Thinking of this term, and the uncomfortable association I had had with it in the garden outside. I shuddered slightly with discomfort, reliving the improprietous encounter with Madame Gusteau and I could not help but find myself pondering the fact that she was such a ***** and incomprehensible woman. Thinking further on our interaction, I wondered at her instantaneous transformation and how she had fared after running into the woods. I prayed a moment for her well-being before returning to the tasks at hand: getting through the doorway and discovering more about this mysterious disease. My mind running free over the events which had transpired and the unforgettable situations I had endured, I was nearly taken off my feet when another loud scream dragged me from my ponderous daze and back into the tribulations of reality.

22-Aug-2010 22:03:50 - Last edited on 24-May-2011 21:08:17 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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The key in my hand, I shouldered the valise and began yet again towards the door, contemplating -- and imagining -- what I could expect to be waiting for me on the other side. Arriving at the door and drawing forth the lock this last time, I resolved to be through this door and engage no further with this lock, regardless of whether the key was the means of unlocking it. Holding the contraption with my left hand, I inserted the key into its opening, sighing with satisfaction as it tapped through each of the mechanism’s triggers. Hesitating a moment, I turned the key and was immediately relieved and apprehensive as the lock opened and the curtain-enveloped chains clattered to the sides of its frames. Assuming an air of confidence, I drew the now freed handle in my hand and pushed. I heard as the mechanisms freed themselves, but observed no movement of the door as a whole. Thinking that the door, much like myself, had become less mobile with senescence, I braced my shoulder against the obstinate wooden barrier and pushed again.

22-Aug-2010 22:03:51 - Last edited on 24-May-2011 21:08:40 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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I was hardly able to contain my frustration when the obdurate object did not acquiesce, and I sufficed myself to a low and obscene remark of exasperation. Pushing once more, I heard the promising, but in the end meaningless, cracks as years of oxidation fell as dust and flakes from the hinges. The door stood firm its guard over the entryway, and I could not prevent myself from thinking that the difficulty of its operation could not easily fall purely to the misfortune which had dedicated itself to my presence; surely it was designed, or transformed, by Monsieur Champeaux to be, speaking in general, incapable of general operation. Wondering what circumstances caused the venerable man to choose such a design, I removed my shoulder from against the possessed door and looked back at the atrium-like entryway. I looked at the beautiful French-paneled doors and to the vase of flowers adorning the table at which I had first rummaged through my satchel. I looked closer, to the magnificent showcases adorning the sides of the velvet-lined staircase. Revolving fully, I transferred my gaze again to the door.

22-Aug-2010 22:03:52 - Last edited on 24-May-2011 21:08:51 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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I was tired, exhausted, sore, and my body felt, at last, every effect of the intense abuse to which I had within the previous twenty hours subjected it. My legs, their aches exacerbated by the useless and detrimental period of rest -- by none of my own standards an accurate term -- in the garden, were but a single manifestation of these intense degradations. Looking at the curtain-laced chains hanging on either side of the doorway and focusing on the lock and key which lay dangling from the right, I recalled the extenuating efforts I had undertaken to progress through the doorway and felt, again, sheer vexation at the fact that I, even after such time and effort expended, had still not succeeded. The sentiments which had led to my ultimatum resurged and I beat back my instinct to leave the door for the other demesnes of the house only through a reaffirmation of my abilities and an intense and purposeful recollection of the voice, and woman, which had so emotionally entreated my intervention. I was sure that she, and her predicament, lay beyond the door and I was determined as, per Madame Gusteau’s assertions, I was the only one in the house occupying a position to be of any remarkable use. My course of actions and decisions thus reinforced, I set about to again contemplating this cantankerous piece of gilded wood. I looked at the steel faceplates which connected with the hinges on the other side, and saw that the bolts that secured this connection were not wearing time well. Moving my inspection to the handle, I noticed that it, in its place, was weak and decrepit; it moved and wobbled and did not function as easily as those of the same material that adorned the chateaux’s main doors only a few paces yet to my rear.

22-Aug-2010 22:03:54 - Last edited on 24-May-2011 21:09:01 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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I looked at these things, and more, in a quick reconnaissance of what it was that, after the lock’s removal, continued preventing my usage of the door. Taking careful note of each situation, I did all hat was within my power to mitigate the effects each could bear upon the door and my successful operation of it. Using the teeth of the key for which I had endured such strife, I scraped much of the aged layers off the faceplates, and rattled the bolts to shake as much as possible from the other side. After this short task, I used my aching and swollen fingers to tighten the metal fastenings which attached the handle to the door; as I did so, the ingenuity of the idea to address these issues struck me, and I became immediately grateful for the advice my blacksmith father had so often offered me as a child. Satisfied with the progress I had made in alleviating he advances of time on this baneful door, I commenced with again turning the handle. As I heard the last piece of metal click into place, I mustered a small but emotional smile and pushed again on the door, twisting the handle and hardly permitting myself the optimism of expecting immediate success. Though it creaked and I visibly saw as my efforts were making small advances, the door did not move but a hair’s breadth. This, progress if nothing else, was enough to satisfy my need to see my effort’s fruition, and I noted with pride that these efforts were enough to unlock the handle. I looked on with assumed expectation as the lever remained engaged even after I had freed it from my grasp.

22-Aug-2010 22:10:36 - Last edited on 24-May-2011 21:09:14 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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I found within myself the energy to muster one last push against the door, but I knew, with no reasonable evidence to doubt, that it would, in fact, be the last possibility of my body’s capacity to exert energy in such a forceful manner. I gathered the strength within me legs and lower back whilst positioning my shoulder against the door. I offered some small condolence to the shoulder which, in all likelihood, would bear the testaments to my abuse the next day and shoved with all the strength I could bear. I was able to use both hands to push this time, securing for myself a sort of leverage I had, before the remediation of the handle, been unable to procure, and I was enheartened as I heard the slow creaking of the hinges when all of a sudden the door stopped moving. I relaxed my grip and shoved again, this time securing myself against the threshold. Slowly the door creaked and groaned, and finally, before I had time to properly register the event, it flung open, forcing my legs, which had pressured against the floor, to fling me through and into the dark place on the other side.

22-Aug-2010 22:10:37 - Last edited on 24-May-2011 21:09:25 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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I expected there to be no light, as the trouble needed to procure entrance would warrant a somewhat desolate vestibule. I was correct. But as I flung into the room, unable to slow myself, I turned my face around my shoulder and saw none other than the gleaming, emerald eyes of the mysterious and psychotic Madame Gusteau, looking from the casted light of the fading atrium. Stupefied at the unexpected apparition of such an unimaginable character, I stumbled, tripping over a crack in the stone floor and cascading into the darkness further. My mind whirled through every possibility for explaining the mysterious eidolon standing next to the doorway basked in the dust-ridden light of the far-away entrance: she was, at my best guess, merely a creation of my abused mind’s fantasy, brought to torture me; she was, at my worst guess, a heinous monster seeking to inflict on me the same torture as experienced the wailing woman; she was, at my last guess, a delusion conjured by my sleep-deprived and over-worked conscience. These irrational thoughts raced through my failing mind as my body continued to fall from my encounter with the crack in the sullied stone floor, and as I reached at last the conclusion that I had no real explanation for this sudden appearance, my shuffling feet tumbled over the edge of the dungeon’s upper balcony, my body cascading through the air until my arms, through a strength I did not realize I possessed, grabbed hold of the floor and banister. The inertia of my body’s tumbling dodderation was sufficient to break away the decrepit mortar keeping the banister sealed to its demesne, and, adequately frightened thereto by the fall itself, I witnessed with sheer terror as the unkept material cracked, shattered, and fell to the floor some unknown distance below with a clattering sonoration.

22-Aug-2010 22:10:39 - Last edited on 06-May-2012 04:22:24 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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Releasing my clasp upon the plaster creation, I joined my right hand along the base of the balcony’s stone floor with the same of my left and I clenched by body as the last vestige of its security fell beneath. Some seconds later, in the dark and unimaginable pit beneath me, the reverberations from the object** impact lent to me an unimaginable fear.
I looked up, over the dusty stone, and to the doorway I had so laboriously endeavoured to access, hoping, against chance, that someone would be there to help. Glancing through the black frame, I looked into the golden atrium and wished for some movement – some evidence that I could expect to survive the situation. Recalling the screams which had drawn my attention to this area of the estate in the first place, I did not dare to voice my need for help. My eyes darting to every crevice of the area, I noticed some movement nearer to me and heard some rustling from the left of the doorframe. I could not help but release my theretofore hostages breath at the thought of some entity being so near to help. Relocating my gaze, I focused intensely on the area, and it dawned upon me that I, in the midst of my fall, had seen the unmistakable face of Madame Gusteau.

22-Aug-2010 22:10:41 - Last edited on 06-May-2012 04:23:09 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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I recoiled, shuddered, and nearly lost my survival-laced grip upon the cracked stone flooring — there were, in that world, few things that could take my conscience by such force and intern it by continued iteration; of these things, the deranged and disturbed Madame Gusteau reigned superlatively. Again my mind returned to the pain-ridden cries that had issued from this place and I did stop it when the sentience continued into ponderation of whether this damned woman could, after it all, have been responsible. The clattering beneath me, I reasoned, was sufficient to summon any iniquity; it was only reasonable that I shellac the supposed abomination by the subpoena of virtue. Thus enabled, I yelled with force and vigor that I did not at that point know I possessed — "Dear and merciful God, I beg you for salvation! Rescue me from this place; save me from the death that I shall otherwise suffer. Aside be Providence — help! Save me! Please! Help!" These pleas having been issued, I could do nothing but hold on to the precarious ballast and thole the misfortune to which L'Morfique had subjected me. I wondered that, after such a prolonged estrangement from Morpheus, I was yet able to overcome such physically and energetically taxing obstacles with consistency. Thusly cogitating, I distracted myself from tiring arms and hands for a few moments before, suddenly, there was a commotion at the doorway.

22-Aug-2010 22:10:42 - Last edited on 06-May-2012 04:23:23 by Yrolg

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