Once upon a time, there was a house that lived on a hill. Its roof was black, its chimneys smoky and twisted; its high walls were brown and its windows smiled out at the forest all around. The house was called Dreadnettle Hall, and it was owned, as much as it could be owned by anyone, by two men called Rot and Wisdom. Both men were very tall with very long legs, as though they had been ironed too flat by an over-enthusiastic housemaid. Rot’s eyes were brown, and his long hair was the colour of a newly hatched horse chestnut. Wisdom’s eyes were hazel, green blossoming through his irises. His hair was short and black, and his fingers were not as clever as Rot’s.
Rot and Wisdom were lovers. They quarrelled sometimes, as lovers do, and when that happened Wisdom would take himself off to the library and read books on science and mathematics and electricity. Rot would go to the attic and poke the thing that lived there until it covered its white face with its black hands and whimpered. Sometimes it even cried, and then Rot would feel glad and sorry both at once, and go and find Wisdom and hold him until his anger faded away.
They had lived at Dreadnettle Hall for quite some time now. It was quiet and secluded, and they liked that. No one ever came and visited them, and they liked that, too. In the morning, the trees all around were filled with birdsong and the splintering glowing light of the sunrise; in the evening, the creatures that lived in the trees crept into the garden and played with the bramble-creatures in the strawberry patch. The scarecrow looked down at them and smiled her straw-filled smile; and Rot and Wisdom looked at the house and the garden and were happy with what they had created.
Upstairs in the attic, the thing that lived there lifted its face to the skylight and prayed that things would change.
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This is what I do when I should be NaNoing. Dreadnettle Hall has a tumblr here, which is pretty nifty. You should check it out. You know. If you want to.
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