Though Carlisle hesitates at first, eyeing the conjured key with the same apprehension he reserves for the gadgets in Qubit's workshop, he ultimately accepts it, his hand shaking despite his best efforts to keep his nerves calm. He's sure Qubit can feel the tremor as their fingers brush against one another. He reached too far, he thinks as he curls his hand back with the key, chiding himself for his carelessness -- and for why he cares so much -- as he turns for the door.
The key fits, because of course it does, and Carlisle gives the door a push. Much like the rest of the estate, the front hallway is nearly as Carlisle remembered it, albeit a bit cleaner. Along one wall are doors: the one to the armory is closed, but those to his father's study and the dining room are already open. On the other wall is the entrance to the trophy room, mounted animals peering at them from around the corner; further beyond is the south hallway, and beyond that are the main stairwell and kitchen. Between the doors are sconces, each one connected by thick grooves carved into the walls themselves.
Though the door is open, it takes Carlisle another second or two to will himself across the threshold. It's almost too precise to his descriptions, too immaculate from how it lives in his memory, but he's too taken with the thought of seeing his home again to criticize. He places a hand along the wall inside, finally finding the glyph for the lights: magic travels through the grooves to each of the sconces, illuminating them one by one until the entire hallway is flooded with a warm, inviting glow. With the light came other minutiae filled in by the program: spiderwebs in the corners, a few blackened spots on the hallway rug, and even a portrait on the wall he'd forgotten to include.
Seeing the house lit once more seems to give the clergyman the strength needed to step inside; his leather boots make barely a sound on the stone floor by the doorway. "It's incredible, Mister Qubit. You're incredible for- for doing this. And for me, of all people."
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The key fits, because of course it does, and Carlisle gives the door a push. Much like the rest of the estate, the front hallway is nearly as Carlisle remembered it, albeit a bit cleaner. Along one wall are doors: the one to the armory is closed, but those to his father's study and the dining room are already open. On the other wall is the entrance to the trophy room, mounted animals peering at them from around the corner; further beyond is the south hallway, and beyond that are the main stairwell and kitchen. Between the doors are sconces, each one connected by thick grooves carved into the walls themselves.
Though the door is open, it takes Carlisle another second or two to will himself across the threshold. It's almost too precise to his descriptions, too immaculate from how it lives in his memory, but he's too taken with the thought of seeing his home again to criticize. He places a hand along the wall inside, finally finding the glyph for the lights: magic travels through the grooves to each of the sconces, illuminating them one by one until the entire hallway is flooded with a warm, inviting glow. With the light came other minutiae filled in by the program: spiderwebs in the corners, a few blackened spots on the hallway rug, and even a portrait on the wall he'd forgotten to include.
Seeing the house lit once more seems to give the clergyman the strength needed to step inside; his leather boots make barely a sound on the stone floor by the doorway. "It's incredible, Mister Qubit. You're incredible for- for doing this. And for me, of all people."