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Dusk. Thunder flashes; rain drizzles. You open a crooked gate, the faintest outline of a once-grand mansion visible in the fog. You move past dead trees and broken stone. The steps to the patio are broken, but intact. A rocking chair creaks in the corner. The front door is ajar.
13 replies 21 retweets 67 likesShow this thread -
A windswept patio. Paint fading, ornaments rusted. Signs of a grander presence, in past times. The floor creaks under your feet. A rocking chair sits forlornly in the corner.
12 replies 17 retweets 60 likesShow this thread -
Tiebreaker vote!
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The railings catch your eye, dusty and rusted. Weathered cast-iron shapes adorn the tips. They look like animals; dragons, maybe. It's hard to tell. Your run your fingers along the edges, and catch three monogrammed letters on the side, barely there: E M L The rain falls.
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You step inside; the door creaks shut behind you, moved by an unseen force. The last vestiges of a grand entry hall greet you. A derelict fireplace sits on the opposite wall, and two doors to the east and west. In the center, spiral stairs head up to an unseen destination.
21 replies 19 retweets 87 likesShow this thread
you forgot "burn yourself in the campfire"
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