#prc70

"A playable post on how harmless choices can make a harmful world."

The House likes Gwyneth.

The other staff have to battle through rooms full of furniture that nobody put there, carry their own pocket watches because they can't rely on the clocks, hold onto a dozen things at once because if they set one down for a moment they can't be sure if it'll be there when they turn around again. But she can do in ten minutes what takes others half a day. Doors open and hidden staircases descend for her, and if she ever just wants a bit of peace and quiet, there's always a little nook with a candle and a window-seat, no matter where it is in the house.

She's the closest thing to a master there is in the place, ever since the butler disappeared. The Amcotts had been long gone by then, but they were still holding onto some shred of hope. But now there are barely any senior staff left, and if they are still here, they tend to spend their days not doing much for fear of going the same way. She's technically been the one who's stayed here the longest; when new people emerge blinking and terrified from the scullery (even now!), she is the one to take them to one side and explain in hushed words.

Having favour with the House is both a blessing and a curse: she is free to do as she wishes, but she can never try to escape, because what might happen if she makes It angry? She's accepted this long ago. She's going to live out the rest of her days in this place (or perhaps not, because it's been ages and she has no new wrinkles and isn't that a horrifying thought), and whenever someone decides they're going to try and make a break for it, she smiles sadly and wishes them luck and gives them a telegram to send if they ever do make it.

But she's quite well-off, in the end. She's safe as houses - sorry, her little joke - and still relatively sane, and that's better than the rest of the staff.

She hums to herself as she lights the candles on the table, and takes the kettle off the fire. "Tea time!", she calls, and they come in in twos and threes. She sets up the dishes - Earl Grey and scones for the cook, gin for the gardener, standard English Breakfast tea for everyone else and cocoa for herself. Nobody questions her authority, and nobody complains about it being too hot or too cold. Another perfect end to the day.

A few updates have been added to the PRC post; importantly, added the PRC3x codes for IRL things.