Mr. Dark quickly returned to his independent room, where everything had been tidied up as if a theatrical troupe had disbanded.
The bed canopy crawled back to the ridge of the roof and transformed into stone carvings, while the bone throne creaked and stretched, dividing into the skeletons of sheep, dogs, and deer. The soul flames reignited within their eye sockets, though the eerie feeling was hardly diminished.
The gathered crowd shed their black robes and, like ant colonies returning to their nest, burrowed into their respective rooms.
The scene reverted to a genuinely literary society atmosphere.
"How do you feel, Child of the Holy Light?" teased a voice from behind. A gentleman in a suit carefully folded his black robe, clearly having been a part of the performance.
"Shocked, and a sense of shame that's hard to describe."
The gentleman held his mask in one hand and covered his face, "It's only been one time for you."
