>okay so in this piece you're a person that

>has arrived to this little lodge in the

>countryside late at night

>you're seeing out a storm

>we're in the past and bad weather has

>cut ties with the local town for the night

>but whatever, you've been fed and you're

>ready to settle in somewhere warm

>someone arrives after dinner, drenched

>and freezing from the snow, desperate

>for a room that the caretakers seem

>peturbed to have to provide her

>an hour later she's dead

the room was finally beginning to warm after throwing so much energy into the fire, figuratively and literally; the pile of wood provided to me certainly needed to be restocked if i planned on being warm for the remainder of the evening. (and i did.) i admired the encapsulation of my hard work into a roaring flame, a brief moment in which the pride of my self-sufficiency would allow me reprieve from the anxiety that laid outside my door, the sound of pouring rain punctuated by thunder and wind that kept battering the windows. tonight, this old lodge would be enough for respite in my journey, as my long trek home may be bookended by trouble on both ends.

my admiration of the fire was not enough to keep it going as the flames began to die. i frowned, my frustration bubbling inside as my hard work began to unravel. in that same moment, commotion outside my room roused me toward my door, my eyes focusing to the men’s loud voices panicking in the hallway outside.

i stood up and picked up my skirt to resettle the fabric as a screech let out, echoing through the walls of the lodge: “dead?!”

my steps quickened toward the door, my body positioning my ears first to eavesdrop on the excitement outside.

“she just arrived, i don’t understand.”

i recognized her voice; that was the proprietor who so kindly let me in earlier in the evening. when we spoke, she seemed warm and inviting. now, her voice was low and quivering. something had surely happened to cause this much of an affair in the middle of the night during one of the worst storms of the region.

“ma’am, she has no wounds, but she is surely passed,” a deep voice commanded a presence as others hushed around it, scattered whispers of theories and solutions.

“perhaps someone broke in?” answered with scoffs in response. “no, she may ‘ave doi’d in ‘er sleep, aye?” tut, tuts heard across the voices. i took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment. gods, may i ever rest?

i flung open the door, folding my arms across my chest as the hinges sent the wood flying toward the wall, my strength not nearly as needed as i anticipated. with a crash of the door against the wall, all eyes darted to me with startled gasps—the perfect entrance.

“ma’am,” i locked eyes with the matronly innkeeper who kept finding her own hands to wring. “your hospitality has been much required on this evening, but i must offer my services in return. i am penelope faust.”

one of the burly men standing in the hallway took the opportunity to match my energy, crossing his own arms and looking down at me, his eyes scanning down my bodice and full skirt. “and who is penelope faust? a lady shouldn’t be involved in this work.”

my back straightened at the challenge. a perfect wager to make this interesting.

“why, it’s lovely to meet you, sir,” i smiled into a. curtsy. “penelope faust, private detective.”

pour another?