"Even the dust is strange in the manor — instead of billowing up and settling again, it rises in spirals and whorls, brushing against Liska like an over-affectionate cat. It trails after her, twining around her ankles until she looks at it directly and says, “Please, not now. I’m nervous enough already, and you’re getting all over my clothes.”

Like a child scorned, the dust settles once more, and Liska wonders if she has already lost her mind."

"Where the Dark Stands Still" --- AB Poranek