(Chapter the Twentieth, continued)
Let’s start out by finishing the book:
>read it
(Type SCENTS at any point to recall the list of scents.)
You flip through the pages, feverishly:
Sympathetic objects are traditionally keepsakes, though most trinkets are too small and insufficiently porous for scent-based divination. What seems to work best is a combination of blood and some physical likeness, usually an image of the face. A large, detailed image and close resemblance seem ideal.
I presume an object or image only functions as a sympathetic object if it is activated; otherwise, our world would be composed entirely of conjurers and fainters. My studies suggest the key is intimacy. Looking at a sympathetic object produces little but unease. Touching it begins to produce results, more if by hand than by paintbrush. The strongest sympathetic effect comes from kissing. (The vulgar forms of physical intimacy do not seem to produce a meaningful sympathetic effect. I asked one of the local village boys to try with my image. All I felt was a remote disgust and a phantom mashing by my waist; all he said was it itched for a week.) I must continue.
The pages go on.
…well, that’s something to contemplate. The language here doesn’t seem centuries old by any means, but I think we’re reading those stapled-in pages which could be of more recent vintage (though they could still be contemporary with the text if some later Cragne stapled some associated loose sheets together in with the book).
>read it
(Type SCENTS at any point to recall the list of scents.)
You flip through the pages, giving yourself a paper cut:
It is said that malevolent spirits can operate through people, if those spirits are made aware of the person’s existence, and if those individuals are of sufficient moral laxity. All of the accounts only say “moral laxity.” They do not specify further; perhaps it depends on the traditional customs. The literature is tentative on such spirits being cast out.
What is clear across the literature is that a priest cannot determine moral laxity. Nor can it be discerned from prayer or conversation. Yet the constant task of all men is to scour the bodies and images around them for signs of moral leakage, to cast out or drink in. I specify men deliberately. The constant task of woman is to conceal that which she may never know.
There’s yet more to read.
Ouch, I hate paper cuts! Though given that first excerpt, maybe this is saving us from having to cut ourselves more directly.
There are more malevolent spirits than the literature suggests, I am sure of it. Nor are they, as theologians say, all manifestations of Satan. Nor am I quite convinced they are even malevolent.
This village appears to be a kind of locus. There is a great entity at work, I am sure of it. But in the day to day, I am less concerned with this entity than his deliverer. The literature says this deliverer may be summoned via divination, but only takes notice of those of the right moral substance. He, because I am convinced the deliverer is a male entity.
You cannot bring yourself to stop reading.
The wound on your finger has stopped bleeding now.
We only bleed for a short period of time, so will need to keep that in mind. As for the content here, the great entity is surely ol’ Vaady, but who’s that “deliverer”?
I have tested these scents upon my image every night for a fortnight. I’m sure I’ve kept it a secret, yet people shun me. Even that damn Consecration William steers clear. So I work alone now, into the night, half in delirium. I anoint my image with oils and try to inflame whatever it is within my breast that will prove myself worthy to the one who chooses. I have only used my own image; I dare not inflict this upon another, who may prove worthier.
Huh, “Consecration” being used as a name makes me think this is quite old again – though from the gossip in the pub it’s clear there are still some folks around with old-timey names.
Just a couple more passages to read:
He knows who I am. He knows who I am. He knows who I am.
And then:
Vaadignephod.
Success, it sounds like.
Part of why I’m interested in the timing here is that if this is from back in the 17th or 18th centuries, it’s possible this experimentation is what brought the Cragnes, and their Manor, to Vaadignephod’s special attention in the first place (we know there were various Cragnes and Craignes and what-not in the old country, but many were from collateral branches and seemed to be more dabblers in various occult traditions, like our old buddy Konstantin, than the much more specifically-haunted modern family). We know this book was written by Artemis Cragne, but unfortunately we can’t be sure about the provenance of those additional pages, and whether they’re from the same time and same hand as the book itself.
Well, we’re not going to resolve that now. Let’s check out our new verb:
>scents
Cedar: Enhances visions.
Frankincense: Purifies sins.
Tuberose: Inflames passions.
Petrichor: Promotes rot.
Animalic musk (castoreum, civet): Promotes depravity.
Blood: Binds an object to the one who bled.
Savior’s breath: Colorless and curiously insubstantial. Used for purification.
Peat venom: Extracted from cadavers in river mud. Opens one up to forces beyond this earth.
Dispulsichor: Undoes the effect of past divination.
Well, if we’re trying to open ourselves to spiritual influence, peat venom seems like where it’s at. Dispulsichor sounds like a reset. And here’s confirmation we need to use blood to establish sympathy.
Let’s check out the other stuff here to know what we’re working with – we’ll need some of these scents and oils to be able to make much progress, for one thing.
>x easel
A pile of wood that comes up to your knees. It’s unnaturally neat, as if someone stacked it.
>search easel
You claw through the wreckage, pricking your finger. At the bottom of the pile is a crumpled, oily ball of paper, from which you peel off what seems like dozens of sketches and photos, every last one of you.
We’ve now got two new inventory items:
photos of you
sketches of your face
>x photos
You don’t remember Peter ever photographing you, and yet these photos encompass, it seems, every moment of your life. None of them seem surreptitious. The framing is so perfect that if you didn’t know better, you’d swear you posed for an hour. In each, your face is visible; in each, thick pencil marks contour your face.
You flip through. Here you’re walking through a corridor, blurry and at a high angle, as if through a surveillance camera.
Now that’s kinda creepy, but the pencil marks indicate maybe Peter was doing this to get better at sketching our features?
That last paragraph changes on repeat examination:
You keep flipping through. In one photo, you’re staring out a window; looking directly at the photographer, but you don’t remember anyone ever being out that window. Stranger still: The window is not on the first floor. There’s no ground for anyone to stand on.
You keep flipping through. There’s a photo of you entering the manor after a hard squall, coat half-on and umbrella inside out, hair matted and face agonized – from rain, you’d thought.
This must be from an earlier visit, since of course an umbrella is one thing we don’t have.
You keep flipping through. There must be dozens of photos of you in bed, in every state: far off and close up, asleep and awake, clothed or nude, alone or accompanied. They’re almost pornographic, though nothing shows of your skin. Rather, there’s a fixation on the nighttime contortions of your face: your face exhausted, your face exhausted with Peter, your face while dreaming, your face in nightmares.
You keep flipping through. In one photo, you’re staring out a window; looking directly at the photographer, but you don’t remember anyone ever being out that window. Stranger still: The window is not on the first floor. There’s no ground for anyone to stand on.
…maybe they are a bit creepy after all.
What about the sketches:
>x sketches
Sketch after sketch of your face. The sketches are dated, in what you recognize as the long sweeping strokes of Peter’s writing, but instead of getting better, each successive face is more and more distended, as if tearing apart.
A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
The mildew is a little annoying, but it does puncture the scary mood sometimes which can be a relief!
>x table
A stone slab in the center of the room, just barely larger than the canvas. You pick up some knickknacks from the table’s edge: a piece of charcoal and a box of colored vials.
>x charcoal
Charcoal, of the kind you’d make sketches with.
>x vials
A box of glass vials, in all different colors. The sides are greasy and stained with a dark substance.
In the box of vials are a vial of cedarwood extract, a vial of frankincense, a vial of tuberose extract, a vial of geosmin, a vial of musk, a vial of rose extract, a spray decant vial, a vial of vanilla extract, an unmarked clear vial, an unmarked teal vial and an unmarked pale blue vial.
Bingo! Let’s check these out:
>smell clear
You smell nothing – nothing, in that all the scents around you seem to vanish, until you release your breath.
Seems this might be that Savior’s Breath, since it’s mentioned as being colorless and insubstantial – supposed to be good for purification.
>smell teal
The whiff of death; instinctively, you stumble back, clutching your nose and throat.
Maybe this is the peat venom? That comes from dead bodies.
>smell pale blue
It takes you a while for you to place the smell: the lawn outside the manor, where you just were.
Hmm, not sure about this one.
>smell cedarwood
Fetid wood chippings.
That’s just cedar, “enhances visions”.
>smell frankincense
A lingering, almost sour sweetness.
Frankincense is also on the list, “purifies sins” (good luck with that!)
>smell tuberose
White flowers, so heady they’re almost rotten.
“Inflames passion”
>smell geosmin
Over-damp earth.
Also not sure about this one.
>smell musk
Strange: this smells like nothing. You keep sniffing – burnt tire?
Hmm, musk is supposed to promote depravity, but it typically has a stronger smell I think.
>smell rose
As advertised, roses. The familiar scent is a relief.
Don’t think this has any particular use, at least from the list we’ve been given.
>x spray
This vial is unmarked, the sprayer is snapped off, and most of the contents seem to have evaporated. But around the sprayer lingers the unmistakable scent of Peter’s cologne. He must have decanted it and brought it here.
>smell it
What’s clear is that someone was here.
Not clear what exactly this smells like, or if it lines up with one of the listed scents.
>smell vanilla
Alcohol with the slightest touch of vanilla.
Again, nice, but not on the list.
So based on this, we’ve identified everything on the scent list except petrichor and dispulchisor, though we have some unknown smells that could fit the bill.
Last thing to check out:
>x canvas
The painting is clearly of a woman, though only her face, and only the outline. In the background is some cursory sketchwork, but the face on the canvas is completely blank. Still, as you trace the contours, you realize it’s shaped like yours.
Right, so taking it all in it seems like we need to complete the drawing, establish a sympathetic connection, and then try to use the appropriate mix of oils to get the right level of “moral depravity” and open ourselves up to spiritual influence. What could go wrong?
Well, the first couple steps should be easy:
>draw on canvas
You sketch as faithful a rendition of your face on the canvas as possible in the dark. Strange how little you remember of how you look when forced to draw it. But it seems accurate enough – almost. The expression you’ve given yourself is contorted and inhuman. The charcoal runs out as you’re sketching your mouth, leaving a jagged hole in the center of your bottom lip. Other than that, it’s as good a likeness as you’ll get.
>x canvas
Your drawn eyes seem to follow you around the room.
Then we read the book until we get another paper cut:
>put blood on canvas
(blood on the painting)
You squeeze some blood onto the painting, closing your eyes with every drop – you never could stand to watch. You were aiming at your mouth but hit your eyes; they ripple uneasily on the canvas as the blood spreads. On instinct, you blink.
Okay, that should establish sympathy. Let’s just try all the scents first and see if they do what we think they should:
>put cedar on canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, you have a sudden vision of a presence looming and your drawn face buckling.
Checks out for visions.
>put clear on canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. You feel a disc of searing heat surrround your body.
Heat’s a form of purification of course, so yeah, this is likely the Savior’s Breath.
put frankincense on canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, the room around you seems to be jolted, every scent sharper and every sound louder. Everything in the room – knotholes in the wood, dents in the floor – starts to look like eyes, all trained on you.
Hmm, that’s supposed to purify sins, but it seems like it’s just making us more self-conscious? I wonder:
>x me
You feel watched by everything in the room.
Nice!
>put tuberose on canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, your painted face flushes and claw marks appear by the cupid’s bow. Your own face flushes as well. The room around you seems to be jolted, every scent sharper and every sound louder. Everything in the room – knotholes in the wood, dents in the floor – starts to look like eyes, all trained on you.
Hmm, that’s similar to the frankincense, but tuberose should be inflaming passions per the list, while frankincense should be purifying sines. Something seems off?
>put geosmin on canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, sweat bubbles up from the canvas. Your painted skin begins to sear – you hear the crackling, see the char on the canvas. Everything in the room seems to grow eyes and judge.
Again with the judging! Not sure what this could be, it could be off the list.
>x me
Your face is sweaty and flushed, your pupils dilated, hyperalert.
Ah, the X ME does change in response to how we’re modifying the canvas. Nice indeed!
>put musk on canvas
You squeeze the oil onto the painting – you think, since it feels like nothing – and then rub the canvas a bit. If you expected depravity, you’re disappointed.
Odd. Maybe it’s not the right kind of musk?
>put rose on painting
(the painting)
You squeeze a few drops of rose oil onto the painting. Nothing remarkable happens, but at least it smells like flowers now!
>put vanilla on painting
(the painting)
You squeeze some vanilla extract onto the canvas. Nothing remarkable happens, but at least it smells like dessert now!
We weren’t expecting these to do anything, so that’s all fine.
>put teal on painting
(the painting)
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. Teal sweat drips off your face onto the canvas, burning rank holes everywhere but your painted lips, which part and seem to offer themselves up to meet every drop, shaking but pristine. You’re pulled closer, sweat and hair matting against the canvas. A looming presence in the background seems to be pulling your head.
“SHE IS NO LONGER USEFUL?” booms a voice. The floor begins to shake around you, yanking you to your knees.
…yeah this is the big one.
We look around to see what’s going on with the floor-shaking. The room description doesn’t update, but:
“Look, it’s all right.” Peter’s voice, out of nowhere. “She doesn’t know I’m here. She shouldn’t be able to hear me, according to the book–” “THE BOOK IS THE LEAST OF OUR WORRIES,” booms the voice. As if on cue, your sight goes. “AT LEAST THE OTHER ONE HAD INITIATIVE.” Your feeling is now gone; your skin begins to rot and sink down into the bones, but you feel nothing. You get up to run, but are rooted in place. “SEE, SHE CAN CLEARLY HEAR ME.” “She probably just recognizes my–” “YOU LIED ABOUT HEARING AS WELL. YOU’VE LIED ABOUT MANY THINGS.” Peter continues to protest – you assume, because he’s right: your hearing has indeed now gone. All that remains is the stench of the rot of your skin.
*** You have been found unworthy ***
Eek! This is very interesting, though – wherever Peter is, he’s not alone, and it seems like he’s negotiating with someone, or something. Maybe that’s the “deliverer” we read about? Or possibly all-caps guy is Vaadignephod, and it’s Peter who’s the deliverer.
Either way throwing everything onto the canvas is clearly not the way to go, but the “You have been found unworthy” message does indicate we’re meant to focus on hitting some specific level of morality or immorality here.
We back up and try the last vial:
>put pale blue on painting
(the painting)
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A blue smoke arises from the canvas, smelling of cedar, incense, tuberose and damp earth. The scent disappears from the air, and the canvas, when the smoke does.
Right, so that’s the dispulsichor, which cleans the slate.
That was the last vial, but we’ve got one more scent:
>put spray on canvas
Even if the sprayer worked, there’s no point the canvas already smells thoroughly of cologne.
That’s our lot then.
Seems like we’ve got some trial and error ahead of us, but maybe we can start from purest and work our way down? Let’s lead with the Savior’s Breath:
>put clear on painting
(the painting)
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A sudden heat envelops your body, and you are seized by visions of Peter grabbing you by the nape of the neck as you fall forward. Even as you look away, the vision seems imprinted upon everything in the room. The visions are so transfixing you don’t realize that your skin has been disintegrating until it’s too late.
*** Your sins have been purified ***
Whoah! That didn’t happen last time. Order of operations must be important, then? We undo again:
>put cedar on painting
(the painting)
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, you have a sudden vision of a presence looming and your drawn face buckling.
>put clear on painting
(the painting)
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. You feel a disc of searing heat surrround your body.
That’s better, but this dramatically ramps up the complexity of the situation. Anyway, let’s see if this works now that we’re pure:
>put teal on painting
(the painting)
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. Out of the canvas, you have a sudden vision of something lurking. You’re not quite sure where – all you know is that it’s present, and hostile. Just looking at it hurts your eyes.
“SHALL I DELIVER THIS ONE?” booms a voice. The floor begins to shake around you, yanking you to your knees.
That’s different, so maybe we’re good? Let’s get extra-pure, just in case:
>put clear on painting
(the painting)
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. Out of the canvas, you have a sudden vision of something lurking. You’re not quite sure where – all you know is that it’s present, and hostile. Just looking at it hurts your eyes.
“THE LAST ONE YOU BROUGHT WAS PURE?” booms a voice. The floor begins to shake around you, yanking you to your knees.
Seems like putting stuff on doesn’t do anything once we’ve done the peat venom.
This seems promising, but when we wait again:
>z
The painting seems to be looking your way.
“Look, it’s all right.” Peter’s voice, out of nowhere. “She doesn’t know I’m here. She shouldn’t be able to hear me, according to the book–” “THE BOOK IS THE LEAST OF OUR WORRIES,” booms the voice. As if on cue, your sight goes. “AT LEAST THE OTHER ONE HAD INITIATIVE.” Your feeling is now gone; your skin begins to rot and sink down into the bones, but you feel nothing. You get up to run, but are rooted in place…
It’s the same bad end.
I try a couple more options, but keep hitting the same fail state. At one point I TAKE BACK to save having to undo a bunch, and get this:
> take back
The drop of teal liquid on the canvas returns to its vial. It’s a shame you never properly completed your sympathetic bind… what did that book say again?
Huh, I thought I did! Let’s check the book again:
Sympathetic objects are traditionally keepsakes, though most trinkets are too small and insufficiently porous for scent-based divination. What seems to work best is a combination of blood and some physical likeness, usually an image of the face. A large, detailed image and close resemblance seem ideal.
Right, the image and the blood, we did all that. But whoops, remember, there was a second paragraph:
I presume an object or image only functions as a sympathetic object if it is activated; otherwise, our world would be composed entirely of conjurers and fainters. My studies suggest the key is intimacy. Looking at a sympathetic object produces little but unease. Touching it begins to produce results, more if by hand than by paintbrush. The strongest sympathetic effect comes from kissing. (The vulgar forms of physical intimacy do not seem to produce a meaningful sympathetic effect. I asked one of the local village boys to try with my image. All I felt was a remote disgust and a phantom mashing by my waist; all he said was it itched for a week.) I must continue.
>kiss painting
(the painting)
As you kiss your likeness, your face is pulled closer and closer to the canvas, then your neck, then the rest of your body. A searing pain shoots through everything the canvas touches, and every transgression wells up in your mind – each lie, rash word, over-short skirt. When your skin begins to disintegrate, it’s almost a relief.
*** Your sins have been purified ***
Umm, that seems like it did something other than strengthen the sympathetic connection - that’s what happened when we tried to do the Savior’s Breath as the first oil.
Putting another oil on first allowed us to use the Savior’s Breath, so maybe we need to do the same thing here? Let’s try the reset one, just in case there’s anything left on:
>put pale on painting
(the painting)
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A blue smoke arises from the canvas, smelling of cedar. The scent disappears from the air, and the canvas, when the smoke does.
>kiss it
You plant a quick kiss, feeling foolish.
This is odd – we had the cedar on the painting already, which is what we needed to do to have the Savior’s Breath not light us on first. But when the cedar’s on, kissing burns us up – it’s only when there’s nothing on the canvas that we can safely kiss it (though the kiss sure seems underwhelming – did that actually accomplish anything?)
Well, let’s give the peat venom a try to check for sure:
>put teal on painting
(the painting)
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A guttural voice shakes the room’s foundations. “HER?” You can’t find the source of the sound. “WHAT ABOUT HER PAST MAKES YOU THINK I HAVE ANY USE FOR HER?” A claw in your back thrusts you into the floorboards and starts to shake you apart from the spine. You try to concentrate on anything else but the pain; what you pick up is Peter’s voice, quavering and not quite seeming real. “How did she get in here?” “YOU TOLD ME SHE WAS PREPARED.” “Look, I was in a rush, OK?” Your sight goes; you’d lost your ability to move what seems like ages ago. “EVERY ONE OF THEM HAS DONE THIS.” Your feeling goes; you should be able to feel your skin rotting and sinking into the bones “If you’d just give me another day, please. Or an hour. Or look, can you at least leave the skin–” Then your hearing goes, but the scent of your rotting body remains.
*** You have been found unworthy ***
…that’s a different rotted-to-death ending, but still not great.
Also, is the implication here that Peter’s had a lot of different wives, and tried this with all of them? That rascal! Though again, it sure seems like the Cragnes have plans for us.
I futz around a little (okay, a lot) more, testing various combinations of anointing, kissing, and using the venom, but keep dying the same way, albeit sometimes I get some variations of stuff the voice shouts:
“I THOUGHT HE’D BRING THE OTHER ONE?” booms a voice. The floor begins to shake around you, yanking you to your knees.
“YOU HAD TOLD ME SHE WAS STRONGER?” booms a voice. The floor begins to shake around you, yanking you to your knees.
“IS IT TIME FOR THE DELIVERY ALREADY?” booms a voice. The floor begins to shake around you, yanking you to your knees.
Having started out with trying to purify myself, now I try to lean into the sinful scents – figure that’s more up Vaady’s tree, anyway – but no joy. I do get this message:
“YOU WARNED ME ABOUT THIS ONE’S PAST?” booms a voice. The floor begins to shake around you, yanking you to your knees.
“I’VE SEEN THAT FACE?” booms a voice. The floor begins to shake around you, yanking you to your knees.
Maybe indicating that it notices that I’m a bit more sinful now? It’s not clear whether this implies I need to be more, or less, corrupt, though – this is feeling like a lot of trial and error, without much feedback from when I fail. I also try to undo-scum right before I get the booming message, and depressingly, realize that it seems to be randomized, so I’m not sure whether they’re providing any actionable info at all.
Now I’m wondering whether I need to think outside the box of vials and bring in some scents from elsewhere - but I do some inventory-juggling and the coffee confirms nope, I just need what’s in the box.
I go back to the trial and error, trying to focus on the kissing – it seems like there must be a happy medium between the peck that does nothing, and the one that burns us up in purification.
Finally, I luck into the right sequence:
>put frankincense on painting
(the painting)
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, you sense something in the room watching you.
>put clear on painting
(the painting)
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. You feel watched again.
>put teal on painting
(the painting)
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. Teal sweat drips off your face onto the canvas. Wherever it hits the canvas, there is a flash and a cloud of fetid smoke, as if something foul is being burnt off.
“IS IT TIME FOR THE DELIVERY ALREADY?” booms a voice. The floor begins to shake around you, yanking you to your knees.
>kiss painting
(the painting)
You kiss your own image, ignoring the teal sweat matting your hair to the canvas. The room shudders and a guttural voice seems to hit the back of your skull. “WHY IS SHE EVEN HERE?” “Because you didn’t secure the room, obviously.” You stop – the voice is obviously Peter’s. You almost cry out, but another guttural roar stops you. “I was in a hurry,” Peter whines. “A HURRY OF SEVERAL YEARS.” Your husband grumbles, somehow unfazed. “If you’d have let me finish, then you’d have her–”
You have a sudden memory: Peter taking you with him to some Backwater church. He didn’t say it was his church – just a church, one you suspected he found on a map. “I’m just curious how you’ll react,” he said as he drove up. “You can learn a lot about a person by how they act in church.”
You’re not sure what, exactly, he learned from your three hours of awkwardly sight-reading hymns, or choking down dry saltines at communion. You definitely weren’t sure what he got out of it, since he left during the last hymn, half-running, stranding you amid a suddenly curious crowd. You got the sense they hadn’t seen any newcomers in a while. An old woman in head-to-toe black grabbed your hand as you were leaving. “You there,” she rasped. “Hold onto that man. The way he stared at you, I’d say he thinks you’re God.”
The guttural voice jolts you into reality. “VERY WELL. I SHALL DELIVER HER.” Ignoring the voice, you continue to kiss your likeness, frenzied, blood smearing your lips and canvas flaking away onto your teeth. Your arms grip the sides of the canvas so tight they puncture it; what’s left isn’t hollow, as you thought, but pliable, like viscera. “THIS ONE BELONGS TO ANOTHER!” A claw sinks into your back, down to the spine, but you feel nothing, just a warmth radiating up your arms. “No she doesn’t,” Peter says. “I’d know if she was involved with someone else.” “NOT LIKE THAT, FOOL. A HIGHER ENTITY.” It stops, with a wall-splitting groan. Out of the corner of your eye you see a torrent of teal slime spew toward you. Your whole body jolts, static electricity thrown into water. “THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN–” A sudden flash of light; an explosion from behind you. The voices disappear. You continue kissing the painting, mechanically, disconnected from the act, until the canvas rots away to nothing.
You didn’t realize you had fainted. There’s nothing left of the canvas but a hollow edge, wisps of canvas like asbestos around the edges. Inside is a key, which you take.
Whew!
So does this mean that we’re somehow dedicated to Vaady already? Or, since frankincense and Savior’s Breath are the two purifying elements, do we have a more benign deity’s protection (we’ve already noticed that Cragne Manor seems to operate a Derlethian universe where Elder Signs are effective and their are nicer gods)? Alternatively, Nitocris is already a more powerful force than either of them had been preparing for. Regardless, sure seems like Peter’s been working to incarnate his god in us, and he’s going to have some explaining to do when we catch up to him.
This puzzle – I dunno. I really like the idea and the writing, but even having solved it, I’m still not sure what the logic was – like, if those two scents made us completely pure, it’s confusing why kissing before using the peat venom still saw us burned up. For that matter, the book sure seemed to suggest that kissing was something you just had to do once, like the blood-smearing, to prime the sympathetic object, rather than part of the ritual itself. Maybe it makes more sense to others, but I think this one needed another editing pass, engaging as it was.
(to be concluded, we’ve got a bunch more shorter rooms to get through).
