// 001. [video]
[Hiss and slip of static as the room comes into lowlight focus through the Forge.
Ambient crackling, and behind it the rasp-dark breath of long suffering sleep. It is probably no accident that the Forge transmits - it seems to have started by itself - it's staticked transmission rising and falling in time and tune with the shadowed silhouette beside it. A dark outline in shredded silk, cut off from view at the neck, a woman's figure.]
[A second hiss. It's of a different nature. It's sharp and struck with shadows, and the figure bolts upright, wild-eyed and still for the barest few moments. Dark curls spill forward over her shoulders, corporeal smoke shot through with ash, and chest heaving, gasping for breath she backs up - quick.]
[Eyes narrow and focused on the small metal contraption before her - lip curling back over her teeth. Illuminated, corpse-like from below, the slightest growl above the static as her gaze still locks on the forge.]
[The light source flickers and skips across the screen as the wand that's not quite her own rolls across the floor and into her grasping fingers. Eyes dark and dilated, circling the unfamiliar surroundings the once, before coming back upon the forge all fury and suspicion.]
[My ...Lord?]
[Her voice is thick with it -- unspoken questions -- and she's on all fours, watching the screen for any sign of movement.]
Rookwood? Dolohov?
[She's fairly snarling at this point, her voice rising on the edge of razors, knuckles white with her grip on the borrowed wand as she forces out the words.]
...My Lord?
[Crawling closer, humming under the hiss of silk across old wood. The tune is both dulcet and utterly discordant. If one listens closely her whimper is tinged with menace.]
Is he dead, my Lord?
[Her wand skims the edge of the forge as her eyes flash. It's quicksilver again, and deafening.]
IS THE BOY DEAD!?
Ambient crackling, and behind it the rasp-dark breath of long suffering sleep. It is probably no accident that the Forge transmits - it seems to have started by itself - it's staticked transmission rising and falling in time and tune with the shadowed silhouette beside it. A dark outline in shredded silk, cut off from view at the neck, a woman's figure.]
[A second hiss. It's of a different nature. It's sharp and struck with shadows, and the figure bolts upright, wild-eyed and still for the barest few moments. Dark curls spill forward over her shoulders, corporeal smoke shot through with ash, and chest heaving, gasping for breath she backs up - quick.]
[Eyes narrow and focused on the small metal contraption before her - lip curling back over her teeth. Illuminated, corpse-like from below, the slightest growl above the static as her gaze still locks on the forge.]
[The light source flickers and skips across the screen as the wand that's not quite her own rolls across the floor and into her grasping fingers. Eyes dark and dilated, circling the unfamiliar surroundings the once, before coming back upon the forge all fury and suspicion.]
[My ...Lord?]
[Her voice is thick with it -- unspoken questions -- and she's on all fours, watching the screen for any sign of movement.]
Rookwood? Dolohov?
[She's fairly snarling at this point, her voice rising on the edge of razors, knuckles white with her grip on the borrowed wand as she forces out the words.]
...My Lord?
[Crawling closer, humming under the hiss of silk across old wood. The tune is both dulcet and utterly discordant. If one listens closely her whimper is tinged with menace.]
Is he dead, my Lord?
[Her wand skims the edge of the forge as her eyes flash. It's quicksilver again, and deafening.]
IS THE BOY DEAD!?