Infernal pipes!

Just as I manage to attain that elusive sleep and drift from consciousness those pipes begin their mechanical calliope. Foul winter, they do not haunt me in the summer months. And for all their nuisance the rooms are still intolerably cold I can see my own breath. I had so hoped sleep might ward off my “thirst” but now it is inevitable.

Why I lock the cabinet at all is delusional of me, why lock it when I am master of the key? The servants are not interested in such diversions and besides the silverware is tender more useful to them, still I have no clue as to the count or value contained in the sideboard. I take the vial with me to the study. I sit, as I have in the chair near the window. A shawl begins to counter the frigid air.

I raise the dropper to my tongue and accept the bitter kiss
that releases me.

Time is in flux now, suspended it seems.

I don’t know how long I’ve been passed out, or if I’ve passed out at all, but something has most certainly changed. The air in the room has warmed, it’s more moist and the silence is deafening. My eyes strain. I can see specular light now slipping into the room by way of the porch. It is growing stronger, it is moving or something is moving in front of it causing it to dance about the walls.

Brilliant white and crimson red.