#darkdevour i.

"Every time I think that I'm in control, you serve another cocktail of chemicals. It's nice, but I wonder -- are you lifting me up or just dragging me under?"

The ornate architecture of the Death House had always been something misleading. What now felt like ages ago -- in a mortal life, Reverence remembered being in awe of it, dust-covered as it had been. Now it had been remodeled ... life had been brought back into the halls and rugs, the floorboards and wallpapers despite none of the occupants having a pulse. Well, mostly none, she supposed. The Madam of House Vrye (as had been so lovingly renamed) filled the doorway with her silk-draped, languid frame and gestured warmly toward the brazier light.

Even before she'd been turned her nails had been kept sharp as daggers, now they were bedecked with paint and charms to make the razor edges appear less daunting. Rings glittered her digits, exuberant chains in silver hair like stars, capping the points of golden ram horns -- everything enticing to those who stumbled through the mists of Barovia and wound up on her doorstep. Even before her party had come and gone Reverence knew the rumors of the House. Transforming it into something that defied those tales, at least outwardly, had been no small task.

She fell into step behind her guest, point of her tongue wetting full, ruby-painted lips and Reverence led the beginning of the tour through the foyer.

"All good things, I hope."

Perhaps. She tended to eat anyone who would say otherwise, though she was sure there were naysayers beyond the boundary of her little town. Madam Bonegrinder didn't attain such a title lightly.

"Are you weary from your travels? Dinner is in a few short hours, I would be happy to entertain before then."