"And tomorrow, we would start rewriting the story in earnest."
The sentiment was noble. It felt epic when I whispered it to the dying embers of the fireplace. But the reality of "rewriting the story" apparently involved a lot less sword-fighting and a lot more flour than I had anticipated.
"Ren! The oven isn't hot enough! I need steady heat, not this... flickering nonsense!"
I groaned, rolling off my dusty mattress and shielding my eyes against the morning sun slicing through the broken shutters. My back popped in three places. Sleeping on a floor in a haunted mansion wasn't doing wonders for my agility stat.
I trudged down the grand staircase, stepping over a hole in the runner carpet that looked suspiciously like a mouth. The foyer, which yesterday had looked like a mausoleum for forgotten furniture, was now... well, it was still a mausoleum, but it smelled fantastic.
