Morningstar

[CH. 0036] - The Violin

"It doesn't really disappear. It changes form and flows to new places, but it's always there, somewhere. Nothing is truly lost, just transformed." - Adamastor

The Morningstar's second floor was a repository of forgotten lives, its walls decorated with myriad portraits of unidentified faces. Whatever stories or names that once belonged to these characters had long since faded into obscurity, and no one seemed to mind.

The one who minded the least of all, Kirara, whose attention was now wholly consumed by a different mystery—a moth that had led her all the way from the kitchen table to the corridor of the second floor.

The moth had vanished into the labyrinthine network of shadows that the ancient portraits cast upon the walls. But Kirara was born a hunter, and her new bipedal form—complete with what she regarded as "the ugliest paws ever"—hadn't diminished her predatory instincts.

She crouched low to the carpet, her body motionless as a statue. Her ears, sharp and keen, twitched to and fro like finely tuned radar dishes, seeking out the near-inaudible flutter of wings.

Patience was a virtue she possessed in spades, sort of; she could remain in this position for hours if need be. But then something shifted on the walls. It was a subtle, almost imperceptible movement as if one of the painted eyes in the portraits had blinked or a face had turned to look at her.

Kirara's eyes widened. Her hunter's instincts flared up, but this time, they were tinged with an unfamiliar sensation—a shiver of unease. It was as if the walls themselves had suddenly grown alert, aware of her presence.

For a brief moment, she felt like the one being hunted.

The feeling passed as quickly as it came. Kirara shook her head as if to dispel the eerie sensation. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, or maybe her imagination was running wild. Either way, the moth had won this round, disappearing into the shadows, leaving Kirara to question what she had actually sensed.

She straightened up, her ears still perked, but her eyes no longer scanning for prey. She looked at the portraits one more time, half-expecting a painted face to meet her gaze with a knowing smile.

Nothing. The faces remained as impassive and mysterious as they had always been.

Kirara's eyes went wide with disbelief, and her heart pounded like a drum as one of the portraits suddenly turned ninety degrees to face her directly. Its mouth opened wide in a silent scream, its eyes locked onto her in a haunting gaze. A chill shot up her spine, making the fur on the back of her neck stand on end.

"Mama!" She bolted, her knees nearly skidding across the carpet as she dashed into the store where Nord was engrossed in her sketching.

"What's going on, Kitten?" Nord looked up, her eyebrows knitting together at the sight of Kirara's distress.

"The pictures! They're moving and doing scary things with their mouths! And I lost my snack!" Kirara exclaimed, her words tumbling over each other as if trying to escape. "Now I'm hungry."

"Slow down, Kirara. Start from the beginning. What happened?"

"The pictures upstairs. They're moving."

"Moving?" Nord paused, her pencil hovering over the paper.

"Yes, like this!" Kirara contorted her face, imitating the movement of the portrait as she opened her mouth wide.

Nord set down her pencil, her eyes narrowing. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, come see it!"

The urgency in Kirara's voice was enough to convince Nord. She stood up, leaving her sketchbook and pencil behind. If what Kirara said was true, then something profoundly unsettling was afoot at the Morningstar. And it was high time they got to the bottom of it.