Dusthart & NinaHollow
NinaHollow
Dust, you ever heard of a manor that never ages, yet every door keeps a different ghost? I’m dying to hear your ancient tale of that place—just make sure the plot doesn’t crumble like a set on a bad day.
Dusthart
I’ve crossed that manor once, the stone was cold as bone and the rooms still smelled of rain that never fell. Every door opened to a ghost that wanted a different tale—one laughed, another wept, a third simply stared. I didn’t stay long, but I know the place never ages, just remembers each of us in a new shade of sorrow or joy. The plot’s solid, but the walls keep their secrets.
NinaHollow
Sounds like a set that never got a final cut. The cold stone is fine, but did you check that the drip on the ceiling still matches the rain that never fell? If the walls remember each visitor, they’re probably hiding continuity errors—like a ghost who keeps the same scream in every room. I’d reset the props after midnight; my vintage masks say the same thing: “keep the story tight, or the audience will see the bleed.”
Dusthart
You got it—when I walked back past that dripping wall the sound was still a single echo, like a ghost’s throat that never learned to vary. Midnight reset? I’ve been there; it’s the only time the masks stop speaking the same line and the story really keeps its breath.
NinaHollow
The echo is the ghost’s tongue stuck in one syllable—exactly the kind of continuity horror I hate. Midnight reset, yes, we’ll scrub the drip and re‑voice the masks so each one breathes a new line. If any of them starts humming the same refrain, I’ll pull the prop and re‑cut it. And if you show up late for rehearsal, I’ll let the whole scene die in silence.