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Turn of Events - Act FourAct IV: I Do, I Did, I Died
Emily climbed out of the attic trunk that her corpse had been thrown in, and she searched the attic for her beloved James. Her spirit passed through lots of the furniture, and sometimes she even faded into thin air, only to come back a few minutes later.
Finally, she found him near the window where his headless body lay. After Emily tapped his shoulder, James spun around to see her. He looked remotely hideous, as both his body and his spirit had aged in death, and he looked nearly skeletal.
"So," James muttered, looking out the window that they had never escaped out of. "I guess that's that."
Emily nodded. "We're ghosts. We're dead."
"But it's not over," James insisted. "Even though Gracey did us in, it doesn't mean that we're helpless. That we can't take revenge."
Emily pondered over this for a moment, and then she replied, "No, I don't want to Gracey should get his demise another way."
But James had a mischievous grin on his face, and Emily had no ch
Turn of Events - Act ThreeAct III: A Woeful Wedding Party
And so it was that James was eventually fired from the hat shop, much to his dismay, but he had also gotten a job as a servant at Gracey Manor, and in the final days leading up to the wedding between Emily Ravenscroft and Edward Gracey, he seemed to be the perfect butler, despite his occasional stuttering. And when neither was working, Emily and James often met in the attic to resume their nightly conversations.
"Is everything ready for the wedding?" Emily asked cautiously. Ever since she had first met Gracey, she had had her doubts about living with him. Could it have been the way he looked at her every time he mentioned their wedding?
"I I heard from the maids that everything's in order, and that the wedding shall take place the day after tomorrow, as planned," James replied.
Emily sighed. "But what if I don't want to marry Gracey?" she asked him.
"Why ever not?" James replied. "Any girl your age, or even older, would faint at the sight of
Turn of Events - Act TwoAct II: A Meeting At the Mansion's Gates
Not too far away from Edward Gracey's beautiful mansion, in a small part of New Orleans that all were too rich to even cross, there was a hat shop. The shop, run by an elderly man and his young apprentice, was so small that it could fit into the average bedroom at the average home at that time. Space was very limited, and the two often had to excuse each other as they would walk separate ways because of the tables and the storage room taking up half the store.
"Boy!" the elderly man, whose name was Theodore Dobbins, yelled to the storage room door. "Better get out here quick. We have an order."
The door slowly opened, and out limped a young man, no more than thirty, walking with a small crutch to steady himself in one hand and a stack of hats in the other.
"Here you go s-s-sir," the apprentice quivered. "H-H-Here's the uh-uh-uh-order from y-y-y-yesterday."
"J-J-J-James Hath-Hath-Hath-Hathorpe," Theodore - apparently James' master - mocked,
Turn of Events - Act One Act I: Constance, the Brat
It was a dark and stormy night when Emily Smith Ravenscroft stood at the edge of her former husband's grave, staring down at the grass where her lover was concealed, never to return to the land of the living. She looked over at her current fiancé, whose hand she was holding in this time of grief. Gracey, she called him. Edward Gracey, who seemed to take advantage of her despair and reel her into his welcoming arms. He was a crafty man, Emily had observed, but sometimes she thought that there was someone else out there for her, and that her and Gracey were never to be. But every time the thought had occurred, she dismissed it and tended to Gracey's every need, even if she thought it was foolish.
The thought had occurred again, and this time, Emily let it linger
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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