══✶══╡Novae Agency. The largest secret organization "known" to man that's been in charge of tracking down and containing strange anomalies throughout the world for centuries. Recently though, they've encountered a problem. After an unfortunate conta...
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" THIS PLACE WILL BECOME YOUR TOMB "
⁰¹
There's always been something disturbing about the still image of a door. One that someone has done their best to open, however fruitless the task proved. Gouges over a wrought iron surface showed a desperation for something to get out. A desperation one deemed worthy of blood but another mocked with sub-par fixings. To leave clear marks of a failed history decorating the door was nothing less than cruel to whatever creatures sought freedom to the other side.
Reminders of insanities befriended by those before were etched deep in the stone of either side, calls for vengeance, petitions of better days, scornful words directed to those left unseen. The door sat dauntless on the north side of a courtyard, where it seemed all hope had been lost. Dust lay still in thin sheets at the door's base. Cut through by sparse mindless drawings, seemingly that of children, or those still withheld by childish whimsy. Whatever moxie had once pushed these caged souls to leave, it seemed to be no more than abandoned history, an accepted fate of confinement.
It was across the way, right before the main door, where life began to show itself. Clawing its way through glass and thick concrete slabs. An attempt to keep one of the few real things separate from the things around it to no avail. They were strange plants, not unlike those familiar to the outside world, but strange nonetheless. Variants of roses swayed in unnatural colors, blue shifting into dark purples, while orchids grew not on arching stems but sprawling vines around the enclosure's perimeter, the rest was simply bizarrely grown plants and shrubbery. It was strange, but it was alive, a beauty that thrived in its faux natural lighting, though none quite knew that. It too held messages at its base, though they felt more of sound mind than its predecessors. Drawings extended the natural beauty, flowing smoothly between vines and roots that looked as though they'd been guided by a delicate hand. A masterpiece that spanned many histories, told in chalk dust and paint, realism, and romanticism, each addition inching closer to freedom. Though it seemed to fall just short of their escape's dusty bed.
Turn the other way and you'll see the artistry continue along the southward walls. Portraits of those who'd come before, their stories immortalized by deliberate linework. There were many... too many, all claimed as dead or missing. It was a macabre sort of celebration that weighted the air and often averted eyes to the smaller set of doors, leading to a slightly out-of-date commons area.
The decor was homely, draped in rich warm tones and the occasionally bold pattern, albeit fifty years out of date. A shallow pit in the far corner gave home to a charming conversation pit, appearing well used, though maybe not so much for conversation. There were large booths, each able to comfortably fit at least six people, with ochre-colored cushions and teakwood tables. Most were littered with unfinished puzzles and crafts, others had chairs crowded around as though there had once been some spectacle in their midst. In the absence of cordiality, there existed an unease that stifled the air, though it barely receded in the presence of fellowship. The lighting was a stroke of genius on someone's part, providing a sense of reality to an otherwise uncanny room. Large skylights illuminated the room with the deep amber glow of early sunlight, casting dramatic shadows across the floor that would persist till nightfall when the soft lights that lined the floors provided just enough light to get around.
