Thankfully, Carlisle's actions are likely to speak for him: he steps forward again, pausing to listen to the crunch of the snow beneath his boot. Another step, then another, and soon enough, he's at the steps leading to the front door, his eyes still wide, still affixed on the estate before them. He rests his hand on the stone banister, and though he feels what he perceives as the cold through his gloves, his trembling isn't from the chill.
As he nears the door, he gives it a look-over: the aged wood is just as he remembers it. Carved into its surface are the visages of horned, bearlike creatures, their massive claws arced and poised around a circle of mountains. There are letters as well, scored around around the frame like an incantation — they are not those of the common tongue, but something more archaic. As Carlisle runs his fingers along the carvings, a quiet laugh escapes him, unable to be contained.
"How far does this go? How- how much of the estate is there, recreated as though it were real?"
no subject
Thankfully, Carlisle's actions are likely to speak for him: he steps forward again, pausing to listen to the crunch of the snow beneath his boot. Another step, then another, and soon enough, he's at the steps leading to the front door, his eyes still wide, still affixed on the estate before them. He rests his hand on the stone banister, and though he feels what he perceives as the cold through his gloves, his trembling isn't from the chill.
As he nears the door, he gives it a look-over: the aged wood is just as he remembers it. Carved into its surface are the visages of horned, bearlike creatures, their massive claws arced and poised around a circle of mountains. There are letters as well, scored around around the frame like an incantation — they are not those of the common tongue, but something more archaic. As Carlisle runs his fingers along the carvings, a quiet laugh escapes him, unable to be contained.
"How far does this go? How- how much of the estate is there, recreated as though it were real?"