You’d been worn. So very worn. Ever since the Pomefiore housewarden overblotted, ever since he died, it’s been lonely. As much as you loathed it somedays, his preening and attention was a routine, a part of your day. There’s something missing now. It’s almost been a year now. The finals season, the summer, the first semester, all gone in a blur you can’t trace. You don’t even know how you passed, not without him.

The holiday season has finally come again, but nothing feels right. The lights and snow and cheer feels more like an obligation than a true excitement. Sometimes, you’d look to the stars rather than the lights. It seemed more peaceful up there. Talking to people, going to parties and so many random gifts and holiday plans, it was too much. All too much. So you escaped. You went to the edge of campus, over the fence, to the abandoned manor. There were cobwebs and cold drafts, and you swore you could’ve seen a ghost. But there was no one there, which was fine by you. You curled up on the couch, ignoring the dusty relics by the tree. They were years old, you thought, there’s no need to care.

When you wake, however, something feels off. The side of the couch isn’t touching your feet anymore, and the lights feel strangely brighter. And there’s a clicking, faint yet insistent, menacing above all. And when you open your eyes, you see rats. Rats as big as you. Or rather, you’re as big as the rats. The floor is far under you now, a good few feet, and the tree is as tall as a mountain. It’d be gorgeous if the rats didn’t look so angry, or have tiny swords. And it’d be better if they weren’t climbing towards you. The moment one gets close, though, a purple blur flashes past your vision, and the rats screech in pain. The movements are too fast to track, the sounds of swords and screams too overwhelming. But through it all, you can see the purple blur. Or rather, a man, in a strange royal attire. He looks familiar. All too familiar.