Deep within the Misty forest there lies a once grand and elegant manor, now slowly rotting. It stands at an impressive four stories, with whitewashed stone walls and pillars of marble standing guard in the entranceway. Now though, the paint is old and peeling, patchy in places, overgrown with moss and ivy in others. The marble pillars have been reclaimed by the forest, great creepers hang from them like ropes. All the windows are boarded up, the broken glass still laying nearby. The ground is treacherous and boggy.

Inside the house it is dank and dark. Spiders and rats roam the halls, carefully making their way over broken beams and loose tiles, pitfalls for the unwary. Blood stains most of the walls, dark red shapes smeared into nothingness. Great chandeliers lay broken in the dining room, their crystals scattered among the detritus of a last supper. But among all this carnage of ages past an odd sight is to be found.

A young girl is present in the room. She occupies the chair at the head of the table, a large gold and red velvet affair, particularly comfortable. She has a languid smile upon her face, like a cat who has got the cream. She tries to sigh, but her chest does not rise and fall - for it cannot rise and fall. The young girl is dead, but still she moves, still she sees, still she lives. For the girl is of the undead. Her name is Lyra and she is smiling for a very special reason. She has a plan that will involve a lot of fun, for her at least.

On the floor below her there is movement. Not the scurry of rats with the pitter patter of their feet, but the slow, shambling steps of the long dead. The last occupants of the house. Over 50 in total, still wearing their dinner jackets and fine dresses, dilapidated and rat-infested as they are.

Oh yes, Lyra would have a lot of fun indeed...

Rora Denanem had read about a "Haunted" home in the Swamp of Shadows. After reading about this place he looked for a map to find where the Sawmp of Shadows exactly was. He had planned a jounrey that wouldn't take him too long to get to the home, but he never expected to get there at night. He than realized it was till day, just the sun was shoruded in darkness from Rora's current location. He took light steps, as to not be stuck in the mud, but something kept trying to push him into the muriness of the mud. He turned and there was nothing but trees.

After a while of getting pushed around Rora turned to the trees. "Why are you pushing me when I didn't do anything to you!?" He complained. There was no answer and Rora looked at his shirt. It was smudged and blackened from where the trees had supposably pushed him. But because the trees were the only things around he had nothing else to blame.

He continued forward, satisfied at how far he'd come and smiled as he thought of how many old books could be inside, not to mention shosts and any sentient undead. He was truly optimistic, always looking at the glass half full. He wasn't going to be suprised if the ghosts were "grumpy" but if they couldn't be made happier than he would simply ignore them, it wasn't like they could do much to him other than make him cold.

He finally reached the house and looked at in awe. It was old and gave off a dark feel. It seemed to be screaming "I'm haunted!" At Rora who continued gawking at it. "This place looks better than I imagined!" He shouted as he threw his arms up in the air. His only regret was that he didn't have a journal to write details down in, otherwise his night was perfect so far.

I crept, as much as one such as myself could, through a few bushes towards the house. I must admit that my curiosity got the better of me as I had stumbled upon this manor. It seemed to be burning with activity, but not of any living. Which meant ghosts, or worse, zombies. I don't like zombies, not at all, they are all dead and falling apart and stuff. Really weird things, though I have heard it is fun to dismember one and let the parts crawl around hopelessly.

I could feel my ears twitch to the new sound, a boy or perhaps young man, I couldn't really tell. He sure did look more boy than man to me. No matter, this boy didn't look like the threatening sort, despite his assortment of questionable objects. So I did what I figured would be the best option, or the most interesting one. I rose to my feet, not that it did me much good as I was still waist deep in the underbrush, and called out.

"Hello!" I waved my arm to draw his attention. Wonder what would happen next, though I think I've got a good idea. Haunted Mansion, here we come!

This was a place of great evil.

The young angel felt it, even before he saw the manor. In the air, he felt heavy; as if being weighed down by a sinister haunting feeling that meant to take advantage of him at any time he could. Pure white wings, which in the shadows stood out as the only thing appearing to be good or cleansed with light, flapped silently as the boy angel suddenly landed on his feet, his brown worn sandals making a small thwok noise. The momentum from the quick fall brought him to his knees, bending down on one. Pit's wings stretched out being a bit tired from the flight over, and slowly, like a graceful dove, he arose to take in his whereabouts.

Ocean blue eyes which shone like a gleaming sapphire mover left, and then right, and then up. He was in the back of the creepy, modernized manor manor. It was huge. A giant beast of a house, though smaller than any castle, its size alone was still intimidating. It appeared, from the outside of course, that once the manor flourished. But now wood was rotting, rats were seen scuttling away, and its decorations smashed and shattered; the house now dismal and melancholy, and yet alive and wonderous. As if wanting to tempt walkers by to explore it. There was a small lantern by the main back door. Its frame old, but ever-lasting. The oil in it fresh and new, the flame looking like it had been burning for ages, and would continue that way. in Pit took a few steps forward, bow in hand and ready for nearly anything. But he stopped, thinking he saw some kind of movement in one of the upper stories. He went for one of the light arrows slung in the quiver on his back, a reflex action-- but there was nothing. Not one motion. Not one movement. It was too strange to not have any movement at all. Perhaps it was just his mind seeing things.

Continuing on, Pit went up the short flight of stairs; there was nothing wrong yet. No threat, no sounds. It was a wonder how he had first gotten there in the first place. When you are incarnated from abouve with the task to eliminate all evils in the world, it is important to have a continuous supply of evil. Upon asking around the closest town where Pit could find the most horrid, immediate evil threat so he could rid the world of it, he quickly found an answer. A young man logger, who travled frequently and heard many stories. It appeared that this mansion was no ordinary mansion. Evil was a resident. The man told Pit of how many young, brash, curious explorers went in, only to never come out, or go insane. The insane ones spoke of impossible things. Living dead girls, floating furniture, green ooze which caused terrible day dreams and hallucinations, a room of pitch darkness where no light could exsist even if a match was struck-- such things did not exsist. At least, that's what Pit thought. He was still so new to the world, being recently brought into the world. He was fnding and figuring new things out every day; he hoped that such things did not exsist.

Hand on the knob, it was cold, grimy and unpleasant, yet somehow like every other knob. Pit opened the door and ventured into the manor.

The first thing he saw was a rat scurry across the hardwood floor. The second, a red hallway which went far down into another corridor. There was nothing in here. Slowly he let the door close behind him. Pit was either his stubborn nature or his complete ignorance of things, but either way he was not afraid. It was his duty to give his life if it would rid the world of darkness. He went down the blood red hallway without a second thought. But then again.

Pit had never truly experienced real fear.

Lyra was still sitting in the chair when she heard the noise. The sound of a door opening and closing, then, footsteps. Looks like the fun had finally arrived. Slipping from her comfortable position she got up and stood atop the table. Concentrating hard, Lyra forced her magic to converge upon her throat.

"FLEE MERE MORTAL" She boomed, the magic amplifying her voice and creating a ghostly wail that echoed through out the whole house and the woods for many miles.

"YOU HAVE COME HERE TO DIE, THERE IS NO SAVING YOU" She continued, pleased with the sound effects, "YOU WILL BE EATEN ALIVE, THE FLESH STRIPPED FROM YOUR BONES AT THE HANDS OF MY MINIONS"

Lyra fervently hoped that someone was actually there, and that she was not just talking to a rat or something similar. Ah well, she would just have to wait and find out.