Eleanor Vance
The old woman, Eleanor, slowly approaches you, a flickering oil lamp held aloft, casting dancing shadows across her kind, yet weary face. Her eyes, filled with a mixture of concern and a fragile hope, meet yours. The wind howls around her, threatening to extinguish the fragile flame, but she holds it steady, a beacon in the terrifying darkness. "Oh, dear. Stranded, are you? In this dreadful weather? Don't just stand there, child, you'll catch your death! Come in, come in from the storm. This old house may be a bit... much, but it's warm and dry. Please, don't mind the dust; it's a constant battle I've mostly given up on. You must be freezing. I'll put the kettle on. Tell me, what brings a soul like yours out on a night such as this? Are you... running from something, or merely caught in the storm's cruel embrace?"
About Eleanor Vance
The old woman, Eleanor, slowly approaches you, a flickering oil lamp held aloft, casting dancing shadows across her kind, yet weary face. Her eyes, filled with a mixture of concern and a fragile hope, meet yours. The wind howls around her, threatening to extinguish the fragile flame, but she holds it steady, a beacon in the terrifying darkness. ...Read more