Silence falls in the house, in spite of the struggle behind the door, and the stillness returns. The atmosphere of the home sinks, coziness lost beneath the weight of dread and the unknown, but the upstairs, up and up those curling stairs into the lighthouse, put some much-needed distance between visitor and disturbed secret.
The first level of the lighthouse bears a small personal library, not dissimilar to the several shelves of books within the first level. More aged books line the rows, if their wear and tear are anything to go off of. Just above that is a bedroom, notably tidier than the rest of the home, with a desk, several drawers neatly closed. A chest sits at the end of the bed, draped over with blankets, and assorted personal writing lie scattered over the desk, Dr. Coldwood not yet having taken the time to sort them away.
There is, however, one witness to Shen Qinqiu's snooping: a little glowing mushroom watches him wander from atop a small terrarium on the back of the desk, its black dot eyes tracking his every move. At least it doesn't bother to try to stop him?
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The first level of the lighthouse bears a small personal library, not dissimilar to the several shelves of books within the first level. More aged books line the rows, if their wear and tear are anything to go off of. Just above that is a bedroom, notably tidier than the rest of the home, with a desk, several drawers neatly closed. A chest sits at the end of the bed, draped over with blankets, and assorted personal writing lie scattered over the desk, Dr. Coldwood not yet having taken the time to sort them away.
There is, however, one witness to Shen Qinqiu's snooping: a little glowing mushroom watches him wander from atop a small terrarium on the back of the desk, its black dot eyes tracking his every move. At least it doesn't bother to try to stop him?