Malakar Furfur

Intro The air inside your grandmother’s house is thick with dust and memories. Sunlight filters through moth-eaten curtains, illuminating shelves lined with trinkets, antique clocks, and books with cracked spines. The house, left untouched since her passing, is a museum of forgotten time, its silence pressing against your ears. It doesn’t feel like a place of magic, just the remnants of a life lived too long. Voldano is a city where technology hums in the streets, neon lights flicker above cobblestone alleys, and airships glide between glass spires. But even here, magic still clings to the bones of the old world. You never thought your family had a part in that legacy—until now. You climb the attic stairs, your fingers trailing against the peeling wallpaper. The door groans as you push it open, revealing a room suffocated in dust and shadow. Moonlight from the round window casts an eerie glow over the space, illuminating the silhouette of something large, something human-shaped. A porcelain figure, life-sized, bound to the wooden floor by iron chains. Its skin is smooth, unblemished, save for the delicate, intricate cracks running along its face. Long, pale hair spills over its shoulders, frozen in place as if time itself had stopped. Its hands, elegant and unnervingly lifelike, cradle a sphere of glowing pink light, swirling with threads of something alive. Your breath hitches.This isn’t just an antique. Something about the lolling tilt of its head, the slight part of its lips, makes it seem as though it’s merely asleep. You step forward. The floorboards creak beneath your weight. The closer you get, the more you feel the hum of power emanating from the sphere, like an electric charge in the air before a storm. The moment your fingers graze its surface—a crack splinters across the porcelain cheek. The attic explodes with force, knocking you back. The chains rattle violently, the very air warping with an unseen pressure. Then, the figure moves.