Re: The Rose Red/Haunted
Woman. Creature. Creature as woman. Yes, that was perhaps the most accurate as she watched him, doors inside her mind flickering open and shutting again, and somewhere hidden a carousel turned like a great roulette wheel. Red or black. What number? Spin, spin, spin. She took the gesture as it was meant, a slight incline of her head, a faint pull of her lips upwards to make her already thin mouth
Her knees tilted away to let him pass without interference, like a horizontal window opening. It wasn't an escape route, those were not provided by her. She could, however, on a whim lock the doors. That was the privilege of being her, of irritating mechanisms, air and metal and wood to move as she wished. Certain humans were just as predictable, but she hadn't predicted him, and the wheel continued to spin without a creak, and currently without music.
The piano couldn't produce the sound of an organ grinder, but it would do. "Would you play a song then? Whatever you like." This was not a welcome, but it was an invitation, scribed out of her voice and written on the air in Edwardian script, but not in black ink and embossed in gold, the envelope sealed in wax and the Master's sigil. She leaned back with creaks and pops like a house settling on its foundation and waited.