Who Paper. About five minutes before Christina thought this scene was going to happen. Where: Just outside Papers house.
When you pull out your key ring you find an extra key is there. The "teeth" are more like a celtic knot than anything else. It surely isn't for your door though.
When you pull out your key ring you find an extra key is there. The "teeth" are more like a celtic knot than anything else. It surely isn't for your door though.
Paper stared at her keys for a moment with enough intensity that passers might have thought she was a little daft except that most of the neighbors already considered her quite peculiar. Mentally she retraced her steps trying to decipher if she had idly picked up the extra key somewhere. As it turned out, Paper was about as successful going backwards as she was going forwards in her thoughts.
She didn't have time to deduce the mystery key yet because she had finally gotten a copy of Captain John W. Trimmer's newest novel, the rare one few knew he penned about tiny ships, and she was eager to delve into it. Huffing in annoyance she shuffled up the steps to her front door and into the reception hall. Paper gave a half-sour look at the relief that was displayed right inside the door, the one with the detailed family tree that just seemed to "grow" there. She was certain the house intentionally made her nose all wrong but she couldn't do much about the old magic that had created it, plus messing with things your greatest grandfather created seemed to be a poor idea.
The offending key ring was hung in its place on a hook attached to the wall. She'd learned long ago that using the coat rack to store important things was courting danger should it decide to wander down the hallway, which it often did when she was running late. The rest of the reception area looked more like a book depository these days without her mother at home to insist her treasures be put away in the forbid.. the actual library.
There was coffee, a comfy chair, a lace-leaf with a pleasant mezzo-soprano and a brand new book, yet Paper could not seem to settle in. "Fine!" she grumbled as another book slammed shut, failing to get into approximately five novels and a poetry collection before giving up. There were plenty of safe adventures to be had at home, but no, the mystery lurking in her entryway would not allow her to enjoy any of them.
Snatching the keys off the hook, Paper glared at them as if they were rudely interrupting her evening. Of course they were and there was nothing to do but to assure herself that she was not going crazy and perhaps the key had been there all along. Yes, that was it. It must belong to something in the house.
And with that, Paper began the journey around her abode shoving an ill-fitted key into locks.
She didn't have time to deduce the mystery key yet because she had finally gotten a copy of Captain John W. Trimmer's newest novel, the rare one few knew he penned about tiny ships, and she was eager to delve into it. Huffing in annoyance she shuffled up the steps to her front door and into the reception hall. Paper gave a half-sour look at the relief that was displayed right inside the door, the one with the detailed family tree that just seemed to "grow" there. She was certain the house intentionally made her nose all wrong but she couldn't do much about the old magic that had created it, plus messing with things your greatest grandfather created seemed to be a poor idea.
The offending key ring was hung in its place on a hook attached to the wall. She'd learned long ago that using the coat rack to store important things was courting danger should it decide to wander down the hallway, which it often did when she was running late. The rest of the reception area looked more like a book depository these days without her mother at home to insist her treasures be put away in the forbid.. the actual library.
There was coffee, a comfy chair, a lace-leaf with a pleasant mezzo-soprano and a brand new book, yet Paper could not seem to settle in. "Fine!" she grumbled as another book slammed shut, failing to get into approximately five novels and a poetry collection before giving up. There were plenty of safe adventures to be had at home, but no, the mystery lurking in her entryway would not allow her to enjoy any of them.
Snatching the keys off the hook, Paper glared at them as if they were rudely interrupting her evening. Of course they were and there was nothing to do but to assure herself that she was not going crazy and perhaps the key had been there all along. Yes, that was it. It must belong to something in the house.
And with that, Paper began the journey around her abode shoving an ill-fitted key into locks.
It didn't look like it would even fit in the keyhole for many things, but the key slides in smoothly like it is part of a well oiled machine to any lock it enters. Any attempt to turn it though is met with stubborn resistance as if the key and lock are all a single piece of cast metal. You've never taken an inventory of how many things have locks in your home before, but you are quickly beginning to realize the number is somewhere between "a lot" and "an absurd amount" between the doors, desk drawers, little windows that protect the pendulum on clocks, the books, oh the books. An image of Milo's locked library flashes through your minds eye- thankfully you don't have that chained library. A music box? No not that either. When you all but give up you turn around and there is a door you haven't tried. In fact you don't recall the door being there before, but it looks perfectly in place and just as worn as everything around it. The door bears a small brass plaque with the letters "H.M." on them.
The key in this lock turns.
The key in this lock turns.
"A guilty suspect always runs," grumbled Paper as she dashed down the hallway after a bowfront chest that was scuttling away. She managed to corner it before it made it down the stairs but again the key wouldn't turn and after some inspection she found that the ornery cabinetry merely contained her mother's extra candlesticks and cloth napkins. At least on the bright side, she'd found the the brass set she'd been looking for since she'd come back from the Shadow.
Suspiciously her eyes narrowed on the new-not-new door. The house was old, and tended to grow unlike any other, being a tree and all. However, there hadn't been any events that would have prompted the family tree to get larger, not by her knowledge anyway.
The door fit in, but she know all to well that judging something by its cover was a mistake. With a sigh of resignation, Paper turned the key and pushed the door open.
Suspiciously her eyes narrowed on the new-not-new door. The house was old, and tended to grow unlike any other, being a tree and all. However, there hadn't been any events that would have prompted the family tree to get larger, not by her knowledge anyway.
The door fit in, but she know all to well that judging something by its cover was a mistake. With a sigh of resignation, Paper turned the key and pushed the door open.
The room in Paper's house contains what you would think of as a pleasant sitting room. There is a rug of oriental design, an overstuffed leather chair with an overhead lamp which looks promising for reading. Unfortunately there are no bookshelves in the room. In fact there is no other furniture at all until you spy an end table on the far side of the chair. On it sits a sealed envelope.
The envelope is sealed, but with the normal adhesive that letters have, no wax or anything. There is elegant script on the envelope that reads "Paper" . The envelope has weight to it, but it shifts as you lift it, like a large coin or something is sliding inside.
PaperToday at 6:42 PM
She wishes she had a letter opener, tearing paper barbarically is a sin in her mind but she doesn't have the patience to find one. Paper opens it as carefully an obnoxious relative who insists on not tearing wrapping paper would.
The NarratorToday at 6:44 PM
Inside is a paper yellowed, that is much much older than its envelope. There is also another Key.
The letter reads:
Dearest Paper,
I'm not sure why I am bothering with the formalities, but ink is already to paper and so it is done. Perhaps it is our Aunt having ingrained something into us. Regardless i shall cut to the quick of the matter. Enclosed within this envelope is a key, which you have undoubtedly found. This is a wicked key. A key without a home and without a lock. It is not the last you shall poses, but I feel it is high time that we receive our first. This key will open the way for you. When you have need of using it a keyhole will appear and your obstruction (and they key) shall be gone.
Go out for walks in the rain if you need more. Sometimes they fall with the rain, sometimes with mundane keys. This secret is yours now. As is this room. I had to move to books out before gifting it to you and I am very sorry for that. However you will never be disturbed in this room, nor shall anyone find you or it. So don't stay in it too long or too often as tempting as that is. Trust me, it is not good for us.
Signed
Paper (in your handwriting)
PaperToday at 6:42 PM
She wishes she had a letter opener, tearing paper barbarically is a sin in her mind but she doesn't have the patience to find one. Paper opens it as carefully an obnoxious relative who insists on not tearing wrapping paper would.
The NarratorToday at 6:44 PM
Inside is a paper yellowed, that is much much older than its envelope. There is also another Key.
The letter reads:
Dearest Paper,
I'm not sure why I am bothering with the formalities, but ink is already to paper and so it is done. Perhaps it is our Aunt having ingrained something into us. Regardless i shall cut to the quick of the matter. Enclosed within this envelope is a key, which you have undoubtedly found. This is a wicked key. A key without a home and without a lock. It is not the last you shall poses, but I feel it is high time that we receive our first. This key will open the way for you. When you have need of using it a keyhole will appear and your obstruction (and they key) shall be gone.
Go out for walks in the rain if you need more. Sometimes they fall with the rain, sometimes with mundane keys. This secret is yours now. As is this room. I had to move to books out before gifting it to you and I am very sorry for that. However you will never be disturbed in this room, nor shall anyone find you or it. So don't stay in it too long or too often as tempting as that is. Trust me, it is not good for us.
Signed
Paper (in your handwriting)