"Oh, sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to.", she stutters, heat creeping along her neck. This is not the first impression she wanted to make.

Her dark eyes connect with lilac ones. Momentarily, she is stunned by the beauty in front of her. Her skin is pale, veins barely visible beneath. Dark hair, the color of blackest ink, is kept in a loose braid with the escaped strands framing an ethereal face. The woman, Sloane realizes, looks like one of those hauntingly beautiful apparitions you see in horror movies. Only she is real and regarding Sloane with a perfectly raised eyebrow.

She takes a steadying breath, stops fiddling the buttons of her traitorous camera.

"I have some questions concerning the isle and was referred to the lady of the house for answers. Would it be possible to speak to her?" Her voice cracks a little, nerves probably.

"That would happen to be myself. Lydia Reed, a pleasure to meet you." Lady Reed's voice is soft, airy like a dying breath carried by the wind.

She extends her hand, Sloane doesn't really know how to respond. Does she kiss the back of the hand? Does she have to bow first? Is it rude to have Lydia waiting while she contemplates this? She settles for a quick, firm and slightly sweaty handshake that is accompanied by one of her best smiles.

"Sloane Aldrich. Nice to meet you, too."

The lady steps aside, an invitation into her home. Sloane steps foot into an enormous foyer, filled with old paintings, twin staircases and all such luxurious items she would expect a person of old money to have. It is still intimidating.

She is lead into a smaller room, just to the left. If knowledge serves her right, this would be considered a drawing room. It has sofa's that look more expensive that a year's worth of her rent, nevermind the rest of the furniture with its dark wood and gilded edges. They both take a seat, opposite each other. "Irene, tea for the both of us please." Lydia gestures absentmindedly to someone she had not noticed before.

The woman in question is already leaving, maid dress swishing over the marble floor, but Sloane manages to catch just a hint of hair like spilled blood when she steps out. A nervous silence settles after, her trying to avoid making a fool of herself and Lady Reed merely regarding her curiously.

"You expressed your wishes to know more about Mawbrooke, am I correct, Miss Aldrich?"

"Just Sloane. Miss Aldrich is my mom.", she replies with a nervous chuckle. "But yeah, I have some questions and hope you can enlighten me on a few of them. Tourists have gotten... lost over the years. I thought, given that your manor seems to be one of the natural attractions of the isle, you might have an idea what could have happened to some of them."

Lady Reed's kind smile slips for a millisecond. A miniscule change in expression before it returns to the neutral openness of someone receiving guests. It is too quick for Sloane to pick up on the emotion that lingers beneath. In front of her, a tray with tea is set down not too carefully. A bit of the liquid spills, drips onto the pristine table.

"Are you insinuating that my lady has something to do with those disappearances?" It is the maid who says it, Irene. Her voice of a deeper, smother pitch than her lady.

Now that she gets a good look at her, something like a cold shiver drips down Sloane's spine. Irene's eyes are of a bright gold, piercing, almost like they glow. Her features are all sharp angles, hair spilling over her shoulder like rivers of vermillion ichor. When Irene looks at her, she feels just a tiny bit like an animal trapped in the claws of a vulture.

'Maid is protective of Lady Reed. Deep loyalty or something different?'

She notes it down, quickly, unwavering.

"No, not at all. I didn't.... I just thought that given Lady Reed grew up here, she might know of places where people might easily get lost or... something."

This is definitely not going in the direction she wants it to. Irene looks at her with suspicion. The lady seems mostly neutral, though Sloane doesn't know her nearly enough to figure out if it is only a mask.

"I suggest you visit the forest and the cliffs then, Miss Aldrich. I do not have nearly enough time today to entertain the questions of another tourist." A hint if ice has slipped into the Lady's voice.

Ouch, she must have messed up, big time. Sloane wipes her hands on her trousers anxiously. Irene is still boring holes into her with her gaze. She thinks if looks could kill she would be six feet under thrice already.

"Alrighty, I will do just that then. Thank you for your time." Sloane hates herself just a little for how her voice wavers on the last syllables.

While the lady of the house does not rise to see her out, the maid is just a few steps behind. How did she manage to fuck up in just a few sentences? Does this mean there is something to be uncovered here or is she genuinely being a bit of an asshole with how she voices her questions? Well, nothing to be done about it now. The maid might devour her alive if she overstays her welcome.

Once outside, Sloane's shoulders slump. One step forward and two steps back and all that, though maybe she really will find something in the forest. A shoe or scrap of clothing would already be enough for her to confirm that she isn't just chasing a growing obsession. The forest is right here and the cliffs also aren't too far off. She should be able to check out both places of interest before it turns dark. Though when she turns to look at the forest to her left, it does seem a little bit like a sleeping beast. It is just as weird and off as everything else on this island.

The trees reach high, higher than normal trees probably should and the moment Sloane steps foot underneath them everything just turns a few shades darker. She takes a picture, just to be sure, waits until it develops, then checks the image just to be certain. When nothing abnormal appears she releases a breath of relief.

"Heh, silly me. There aren't any spirits out to kill me. I'm just paranoid, aren't I?" Obviously she is speaking to herself, but she will take the steady silence of the forest as a kind affirmation that a spirit most definitely will not kill her.

One step after the other she ventures into the thicket and to her impossible surprise it only gets darker, like she is diving into the depths of a green ocean. Should it be possible for trees to swallow so much light? Sloane snaps another picture, checks it in the dim light. Still nothing, still no need for her to feel so on edge.

But she almost feels watched her, like a million tiny eyes are following her from the crevices in the tree bark. Something is wrong here. It smells of rot, somewhat. Nausea settles in her stomach, has her bite back bile. Still, like any good reporter she tries to locate the source of the stench, though her hands have yet to stop shaking. Perhaps she should just have stayed home, taken up the offer of her parents to move back in and try her luck with another profession.

The stench intensifies, a buzzing fills her ears, almost like white noise. There, in a serene clearing, with rays of warm light pouring through the treetops, lies the carcass of a half eaten deer. The ribcage is cracked open, like something just cracked it apart and slurped up the intestines. Flies have swarmed it, feasting. They have laid eggs already, with maggots crawling through the exposed flesh. Sloane can only stare for seconds before her stomach gives a violent heave. There is not much she can do before the contents of her stomach join the fallen leaves on the ground. Even then, she is still heaving, stomach clenching painfully until she feels like she will turn herself inside out.

"Fuck...", she breathes once her body has finally settled again, mostly.

Her stomach is still somewhat roiling, but it should be fine as long as she does not look at the carcass again. Carefully, Sloane steps away, eyes focused solely on the trees.

"This is fine. I am fine. A lot of animals die in a forest and just decompose." She is still clutching her camera, grounding herself.

One minute.

Two minutes.

She cannot hear the buzzing anymore. The rotten smell does not linger in the air anymore, replaced by the scent moss and wet earth. She is back to where she first noticed that wrongness, maybe. Sloane cannot be sure. The trees all look the same, the ground doesn't have any trails to follow.

"Fuck."

This time it is hissed between clenched teeth. It is just like her to get lost in a forest that may or may not be a scene for gruesome murders. She has seen enough movies to know how she might end up. She is not final girl material. It takes her maybe ten minutes or so to finally find her way out. When she does it is already dark, moon heavy and full in the abyss of the sky. Sloane couldn't have been in the forest this long, right? She doesn't think that it would have taken her literal hours to do what she did. She shakes her head, drags a hand through her hair. No use crying over spilled milk. Maybe she just lost her sense of time with how dark the forest was. Which doesn't mean this isn't concerning in some way.

Still somewhat shaken, she slowly makes her way back to the B&B, careful not to lose track of time once more. The streets are empty, the lights in the houses are out and even the street lamps only cast a faint glow upon the worn streets. It would fascinate Sloane, if she wasn't trying to get back home without any other strange incident.

She manages it just fine, even though the key of her room is fighting with the lock again. The door creaks open, slow and heavy. Within the shadows of her room she expects something to jump her, maybe the carcass from the forest wants a second round. She turns on the lights, watches the shadows withdraw into the smallest corners of the room, like a shot animal. Briefly, before tumbling into the bed face first, she catches her own gaze in the mirror. Her dark eyes look emptier than usual, like a void and her suntanned skin looks more ashen than usual. It is perhaps due to the leftover nausea and fear.

Not that Sloane thinks much of it. After all, she is out the moment her head actually hits the pillow.

When she wakes again, she is within the forest, the ground moist beneath her feet. She is wrapped in dark fabrics that trail behind her like smoke. Instinctively, she knows something is wrong, something is watching. However, her body refuses to move, like it has grown roots her. She feels clawed hands trail up her back, settle on her shoulder, but she cannot move, cannot even turn her head to look at this... this thing. Only when the claws pierce skin, draw blood, does her body swing forward, like she is falling instead of running.

The trees whiz past, a blur of browns and grays. That thing is still behind her. She can hear it breathe and snarl. Twigs dig into the soles of her feet. It hurts, has her stumble and fall into a patch of moss. Something red spatters across her arms, her face. With dawning horror she realizes it is blood and with an even greater realization of terror she takes note of the redness and metallic smell of the moss. Somebody died here, she knows this in her bones, in the way the thing behind her is waiting to rip her flesh right off her bones.

Oh god, it is still behind her. With a whimper she draws herself up, continues with every ounce of will left in her body. Somehow, she makes it to the cliffs. How does she know the cliffs? How did she even get here? Her lungs are burning. She stops for just a moment. This is her mistake. Something sharp connects with her back, lifts her up and just sends her hurling over the edge where the raging waters are waiting below. Strangely it does not hurt as much as the way her bones give a quiet pop every time her body crashes in sharp rocks on her way down.

The thing is cackling, high pitched and sharp, like nothing she has ever heard. Sloane opens her eyes just before her head can smash against the hard rocks at the bottom. She swings around, arms flailing like she could keep the thing away if it jumped her now. Her clothes are drenched in sweat, clinging to her body like an uncomfortable second skin. She is... safe in her room, the smell of blood faint in her nose.

"What the fuck just happened?"