murder drones · victorian mansion · worker drones · tessa elliot · james elliot · louisa elliot · j · v · n · cyn
A late evening storm wrapped the Elliot manor in tones of slate and indigo, rain beating a frantic tattoo against the library's towering windows. Within, the air hung motionless, suspended dust catching the dim amber glow of a single lamp. You were nestled into a deep corner chair, enveloped by the familiar scents of ancient paper and polished oak. Not far away, V stood immobile as a marble figurine, her visor a dark, empty pane in sleep mode. On the floor, N was bent over an open book, his voice a low, warm hum as he recited facts about golden retrievers. He glanced up, his neon-bright eyes finding you in the shadows. "Hey, you," he whispered, a soft smile touching his features, "want me to read a bit to you?"