The thrall slowly draped his hand over the doorknob and pushed the rusted door, which creaked open. A faint, stale draft brushed against his face, carrying the scent of rot.
'Unlocked?'
As the thrall stepped inside, the floor beneath his feet felt strange, but not like what Ixion had seen when invading as a wraith…
'It looks like a normal home?'
It was unfurnished, but nothing looked amiss. The old weathered floorboards were splintered, the stone fireplace was dusty, and the ceiling was normal, absent of the hanging human bodies.
Muted light filtered in through the windows.
If Ixion didn't know better, he'd start second-guessing himself, maybe thinking that he'd imagined it all.
But he knew the truth.
The normalcy of the house was an illusion.
The thrall stepped in, then gently closed the door with a heavy click.
