Situated on Crown Street, which forms the boundary of the upper district of Wind Harbor, there is an enigmatic mansion that has long captured the imagination of locals and visitors alike. The property is officially listed as 99 Crown Street.
Architecturally, the mansion is a three-story edifice with a pointed roof, displaying a unique design sensibility that sets it apart from the prevalent elf-style architecture commonly seen throughout Wind Harbor. While most homes in the area boast light, airy exteriors and verdant gardens, this mansion opts for a darker, more brooding appearance. Its roof is a deep, almost forbidding shade, which stands in sharp contrast to its immaculately white walls. The large windows that punctuate the façade are ornate, featuring intricate patterns and elaborate linings that add an element of grandiosity to the structure.
One of the mansion’s most exceptional features is its expansive garden that sprawls both in the front and the rear of the property. Given the densely packed nature of the city-state, a garden of this size is a remarkable rarity. Even more intriguing is the selection of plants and shrubs it houses, many of which are so uncommon that even the most seasoned botanists would struggle to identify them.
The mansion is as mysterious as it is distinctive. Its owner is an elusive figure who is seldom seen in public. During daylight, the only signs of life are the few silent servants who meticulously tend the garden and maintain the home. Yet things take an eerie turn when night falls, and the mansion’s lights come on. Uncanny shadows can often be glimpsed darting about within the illuminated windows.
Local lore is rich with bizarre accounts about the mansion. Some claim to have witnessed the daytime servants shedding their human appearance at night, morphing into unsettling wooden puppets and metallic tin men that roam the halls. Others speak of being irresistibly lured by mysterious whispers as they walk past the property, only to find themselves disoriented and transported to an entirely different location when they snap back to reality. Even more unsettling are stories of the garden’s plants transforming into dark, twisted thorns that envelop the first floor like a malevolent cage as the sun sets.
Out of all these stories, perhaps the most extravagant rumor posits that the mansion is the prison of a vengeful female spirit. Allegedly, her powerful curse emanates from the depths of the mansion’s basement, warping the servants into lifeless automata when darkness falls.
However, it’s worth noting that these claims have largely been dismissed as the products of overactive imaginations. In the numerous city-states scattered across the Boundless Seas, rumors and myths of this sort are far from uncommon. The anxieties and concerns brought on by the strange events that sometimes occur under the cover of darkness often lead to heightened states of alertness among the populace. Consequently, many people are prone to interpreting even innocuous sounds and sights as evidence of malevolent forces at work. The city-state guardians routinely investigate numerous reports of supernatural occurrences, most of which turn out to be false alarms triggered by such heightened anxieties.
Generally speaking, as long as this elevated state of alertness doesn’t evolve into a form of “mental corruption,” it’s not seen as a significant problem. After all, a heightened sense of caution doesn’t actually manifest real threats. However, it’s preferable for citizens to remain vigilant, as genuine supernatural incidents, although rare, are not entirely outside the realm of possibility.
As for who truly owns this mysterious mansion on Crown Street—that remains one of Wind Harbor’s most enduring mysteries.
Lucretia, widely known as the “Sea Witch,” had long grown comfortable with the aura of dread that enveloped her and the fearful glances or ominous messages that came her way. Ironically, she had nurtured many of the unnerving rumors surrounding her mansion at 99 Crown Street in Wind Harbor.
“I need a sanctuary within the city-state,” Lucretia said, relaxing in the sumptuous interiors of her mansion. “Life at sea can be exceedingly stressful, even for someone like me.” She approached a large, ornately framed window, peering through it to observe the quiet entrance that led to her mansion. “I’m not fond of social interactions, and in a city-state as crowded as this, truly isolated spots are hard to come by. So, it suits me to create an atmosphere sufficiently intimidating to ward off inquisitive eyes.”
Duncan, who had been studying the various artifacts and opulent furnishings that adorned the mansion, interjected, “Why not follow Tyrian’s example? He found a desolate island in the icy reaches of the Cold Seas to establish the Mist Fleet’s base. That location offers him uninterrupted solitude for centuries to come.”
Lucretia spun around, a smirk gracing her lips. “So I should be like Tyrian and risk being caught by our dear father while enjoying a striptease in the comfort of my own home?”
Visibly embarrassed, Duncan cleared his throat. “Ahem! Keep such comments about your brother between us, or better yet, for when you’re actually in his presence.”
Lucretia paused, a brief flicker of emotion crossing her eyes. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about her father’s current behavior, acknowledging that it would take time for her to adjust to it. Soon enough, though, she regained her composure. “Emulating Tyrian isn’t an option for me. Securing an entire island would involve constructing and managing various facilities, overseeing a fleet, and maintaining an intricate system that spans from logistical support to diplomatic relations. All of that would consume the precious time I dedicate to my magical research. Just keeping my ship, the ‘Bright Star,’ operational is a task in itself.”
As she finished speaking, the soft clatter of footsteps resonated in the room. A servant, garbed in a crisp black-and-white uniform, approached with a tray bearing warm towels and a refreshing beverage designed to mitigate the fatigue of travel. The servant offered a slight bow toward Lucretia and Duncan. As he did so, his smile looked stiff and corpse-like, and a subtle ticking noise of internal gears could be heard emanating from within him.
Duncan picked up a drink from the tray, momentarily eyeing the almost-human servant. He sensed an unsettling mechanical nature concealed beneath the butler’s lifelike exterior, a quality so eerie that it could unnerve anyone perceptive enough to notice. Turning back to Lucretia, he mused, “Both you and Tyrian have your unique fields of mastery. Before reuniting with you two, I had heard rumors painting your relationship as tense, even bordering on antagonistic. Clearly, those accounts were grossly inflated.”
Lucretia glanced at Duncan, contemplating his words. Whether it was her rumored animosity with her brother or her need to ward off unwanted attention, life had taught her that sometimes illusions were as powerful as reality—especially for those who wished to keep the world at arm’s length.
“After the dissolution of the Vanished Fleet a century ago, speculation ran rampant,” Lucretia began, her voice tinged with a deep and complex array of emotions. “Ordinary people couldn’t access the full details of what transpired following that momentous event. They only knew that my ship, the ‘Bright Star,’ and Tyrian’s ‘Sea Mist,’ sailed in opposite directions, effectively spanning the extremities of the civilized world. This lack of information naturally allowed imaginations to concoct a theatrical tapestry of events, rich with conflict and drama.”
Lucretia exhaled slowly, a multifaceted expression flickering across her face as she shook her head.
“After you… left us, Tyrian and I met sporadically, always briefly. Even though the ‘Vanished’ had disappeared, so to speak, we could still sense a remnant of your presence, a fragment of your essence that clung to life.”
Her eyes shifted toward the window, her gaze softening as she spoke in a quiet, contemplative tone, her words laced with memories unshared and unknown to anyone else.
“Along the perimeters of the world, where you once ventured, we could ‘hear’ you if our vigilance slackened even the slightest. At night, your roar—impassioned, filled with malevolence and a restless urge for destruction—resounded from the darkest crevices of existence. It was as though you were wrestling to shatter the barriers that separated you from our reality, straining against the confines of subspace.”
Lucretia paused before continuing, “During the crepuscular hours, when day gave way to night, we caught fleeting glimpses of you and the ‘Vanished.’ Your ship materialized from the veils of shadow, approaching ominously like a harbinger of doom, leaving a trail of death in its wake.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, “Eventually, we realized that these visions and auditory experiences were uniquely our own; they existed only in our perception. No one else could hear or see them.”
She sighed deeply, “Tyrian started to see a pattern. It appeared that your awareness, your ‘attention,’ was magnetized by our proximity to each other. Just like light: when two light sources merge, they create an even brighter luminosity. In a similar fashion, Tyrian and I became the ‘lighthouses’ that beckoned you back from the abyss of subspace to our realm.”
Lucretia’s voice softened further, imbued with an air of resignation, “So, we took the drastic step of distancing ourselves. Tyrian retreated to the northernmost territories while I relentlessly navigated toward the southern realms. With half a world separating us, the visions ceased, and the haunting cries that filled our ears faded into silence.”
She inhaled deeply as though lifting the weight of a century-long burden off her shoulders, a deluge of emotions she had held captive for a hundred years.
Duncan listened with rapt attention, struggling to find the right words. It dawned on him that the ‘witch’ was not merely sharing her experiences; she was confiding in him about another individual, someone who had also left an indelible mark on her life. He knew he had no right to feel burdened or remorseful for her hardships. And yet, despite himself, he couldn’t remain emotionally detached. A surge of unfamiliar emotions welled within him, emotions he wasn’t certain he had a claim to. Finally, breaking the weighty silence, all he could muster was a soft, empathetic sigh, “Both of you have borne immeasurable burdens.”
“It’s not as bleak as you might imagine,” Lucretia began, her smile almost wistful as she shook her head. “During the initial ten years following your departure, Tyrian and I felt your absence acutely. Each time we heard those haunting sounds, or glimpsed those eerie visions, a foolish glimmer of hope would spark within us. We entertained the unlikely notion that, should you actually follow the ‘lighthouses’—Tyrian and me—back into our reality, perhaps things could revert to the way they once were.”
She paused, her expression changing subtly, “However, as another ten years elapsed, the dreadful occurrences linked to the ‘Vanished’ appearing near the fabric of our reality intensified. Our concerns deepened into genuine fear. Driven, perhaps, by what one might call a ‘sense of duty,’ we committed to finding a way to permanently exile you from our world.”
Lucretia continued, “As more years passed, our attempts at your banishment seemed to yield results. The fear started to subside, giving way to nostalgia. Every so often, my brother would bring up the halcyon days of our shared past. While we were cautious never to utter your name, or that of the ‘Vanished,’ we couldn’t avoid reminiscing about our grand adventures and unforgettable voyages.”
She sighed, “Over the last three or four decades, all the conversations that could be had were exhausted. We found ourselves increasingly reticent about even mentioning the ‘Vanished.’ It seemed as if it had all become a relic of history. Official documents in various city-states and sailors’ logbooks relegated the ‘Vanished’ to the realm of legend. Even the dread associated with our ships, the ‘Sea Mist’ and ‘Bright Star,’ had markedly ebbed.”
“And then, just like that, you reappeared,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “The ‘White Oak’ emerged from a storm, bringing disconcerting news to the city-state of Pland. Did you know that Tyrian lost sleep for three consecutive nights after hearing of your return?”
Suddenly, her laughter rang out, rich and genuine, as if a heavy weight had been lifted— a sound she hadn’t indulged in for a century.
A delicate silver hair accessory at the end of her locks, designed like undulating waves and feathers, shimmered as it caught the light, adding an extra layer of warmth to her laughter.
Duncan sighed softly, readying himself to respond.
However, before he could articulate his thoughts, a sudden shriek from the direction of the living room cut him off. The shrill sound reverberated through the air, halting their conversation in its tracks.
It was unmistakably Nina’s voice.
Both Duncan and Lucretia exchanged a quick, concerned glance, then pivoted swiftly, rushing towards the living room.
As they covered half the distance, Nina’s voice reached them again, this time brimming with a combination of shock and unmistakable outrage.
“Why on earth did they put stink beans on the pancakes?”
