annotated floorplan - simple floorplan

Trace watched Ophelia make her way to a cabinet, then return with a small bottle full of something light greenish-brown. She held it out to him on her palm.

Trace accepted it, and raised it to tilt it, watching how thick the liquid inside was.

“It won’t taste bad,” the gorgon added.

With a shrug, Trace wriggled the cork out. “I owe Wanda, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Well, it does,” Wanda said. “I wouldn’t push it if something was really a problem.”

Trace shrugged again and swallowed the contents in a few gulps. There was perhaps half a cup of thick liquid, and it tasted of apple cider with a hint of spice.

“I quite like that one,” Ophelia said. “Thalia provided a couple of the ingredients, and it turned out beautifully. We collaborate now and then, and the results can be wonderful but are usually somewhat complex.” She reached out to take the empty bottle.

Trace hardly noticed. Strange sensations were rippling through his body, outwards from his centre. It felt something like wanting badly to stretch, but it was every muscle in his body, and actually stretching didn’t help. The less-than-enjoyable sensation passed fairly quickly, however, replaced by a vague sort of numb stiffness... no, he could still move without difficulty, and when he laid a hand on the nearest table he could still feel it, smooth and cool and firm.

Confused, he looked at his hands.

They weren’t skin over flesh over bone. As near as he could tell, they were wood. If there were multiple layers of any kind, he couldn’t determine that on a visual inspection.

He wasn’t breathing, either, although he discovered that he could inhale in order to speak.

“I’m made of wood?” His voice sounded strange to him, but he couldn’t decide why. Maybe it wasn’t resonating inside him the same way? He wasn’t sure it objectively sounded different.

“Completely,” Ophelia said. “Animated wood, rather than living wood like a tree. For the moment, you have the same strengths and weaknesses any wooden object has, with the advantages of being able to think and move. As usual, it will wear off.”

“Oh, I like it,” Wanda said.

Trace nodded absently, most of his attention on analysing what his senses were telling him. With the possible exception of his own voice, he could hear without interference—although when he paid close attention, it had a depth and quality that he couldn’t easily define. He could see clearly—if anything, colours were a little more defined, and since he had changed but they hadn’t, maybe he had a few more cone cells or some equivalent. If he bothered to inhale he could detect scent, but it felt more like taste, so possibly they were more strongly linked together. Proprioception and balance seemed normal. He wasn’t sure about his sense of touch though.

“I’m okay,” he said, just in case they were concerned. People often were, about smaller issues than this. “I’m going to go test this.”

“Please do,” Ophelia said. “I’ll be here if you’re looking for me later.”

“I’ll probably be by the library and games room,” Wanda said. “Unless I drop by the kitchen or something. Thanks, Fi!” She waved and left.

Trace followed her out the door, but paused there to think about which way to go.

The music room was his best chance for figuring out what was going on with his hearing, and as he understood it, part of the point was to let himself fully experience anything that happened. That probably outweighed how much time he’d spent in that room already. He could explore the upstairs properly, including the paintings, once he’d satisfied his curiosity about his hearing.

The music room was off the great hall, which the main stairway led directly into, so it didn’t take long.

Dora was there alone, lounging on one of the sofas and listening to music... on a portable stereo that was old-school from Trace’s perspective, since it had dual cassette decks, but was distinctly out of place in the setting. Where the power was coming from he had no idea, but then, the kitchen had a big steel fridge that must also need electricity, and he hadn’t thought twice about that. He recognized the music only because he enjoyed retro and had made good use of his mother’s collection: Cyndi Lauper’s “She Bop,” so it was probably the album She’s So Unusual, unless it was a greatest hits collection or someone’s old mixtape.

Dora looked up immediately, smiled, and sat forward so she could stop the music. “Hi. You look like you’ve been having adventures.”

“A little bit,” Trace said. “My hearing feels like it’s different and I want to test it. Maybe tactile sensation too. Dexterity is fine but I’m not sure what feedback I’m getting.”

She gestured. “Well, this is the room for making noise. Do you want me to leave?”

“No, it’s okay. Sorry I interrupted Cyndi.”

Dora laughed. “I can listen to that any time, it’s not a problem.”

“Actually, I know how that song is supposed to sound. Could you rewind it and turn it on?”

“Sure.”

Since it was the first track on that side, there was no need to fumble with finding the beginning. Trace sat beside her on the sofa, listening intently, and after a moment laid a hand against one speaker.

He could feel it vibrating through him, but faintly, and only perceptible because he was watching for it.

With Dora’s help, he investigated further. When it was difficult for him to play and listen simultaneously, she stepped in: she knew the basics of piano, and more about the great harp—she said Richard’s wife had taught her.

The best music was always a physical sensation, but never before like this. While in even limited contact with the harp or piano, the vibrations resonated through his entire body so powerfully that he felt like he was a part of the instrument.

It wasn’t an overload at all.

It was absolute bliss.

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere,” Neon said softly from near one of the doors. Trace glanced over; she was leaning against the doorframe, hands tucked into her pockets. Her royal blue t-shirt still had the ghostly rectangles, but now it said THINK INSIDE THE BOX. Banana was barely visible on her shoulder. “I was going to come offer whatever help I can on where to go next, but I’m pretty sure you’d rather stay right here for the moment. Can I come sit down, or should I leave?”

Trace shrugged. “Whatever you want. You’re right. I don’t want to go do something else yet.”

“Fair enough. I’ll just hang around until you’re ready, then.” She crossed the room to the sofa and sat down. “Whatever you’re doing, you look like you’ve had a revelation of some kind.”

“Sound is all vibrations,” Trace said. “Which you feel, and one part of your ear translates it into other signals.”

“Right.”

“Imagine if you could hear it with your whole body.”

Neon didn’t answer instantly. “For someone really into music, I bet that would definitely qualify as a revelation. Don’t let me stop you. Would you like me to go get the Master? He’s just upstairs checking on the pets, but between us all we must do that twenty times on Hallowe’en night and they’re fine.”

“Um... sure. Sorry, you just sat down.”

“So I’ll stand up. I’ll be right back.”

Neon returned in very short order with Richard, and had apparently explained the general idea, because Richard simply walked in and said casually, “I doubt you’ve tried the cello. Allow me.” Neon sat quietly on the sofa again.

Richard knew a lot of instruments, at least the basics of everything in the room and there were plenty. The variations were fascinating: strings felt the best, but each family had its own distinctive sensations and he was sure that with more time he’d find that each type and possibly each individual would be unique.

Time was something he lacked.

“Trace?” Dora said gently. “The potion’s wearing off.”

“It what?” Trace looked down at his hands, and watched morosely as they softened back to regular flesh. He hadn’t intended to spend the entire duration in this room, but how could he have left and given up even a moment of that experience? “Oh. Yeah.”

Neon stood up and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes things ending is harder than dealing with them,” she said softly. “Distraction might help. You haven’t met Cosmo yet, or Sally, or Jake, and there are still plenty of strange things in the house that you haven’t come across, and there’s lots of time.”

Trace nodded sharply. Distraction sounded good. Maybe then that achy feeling of loss would go away. “Sure. You mentioned the paintings upstairs. They were next on my list.”

“Great. I’ll come keep you company, if you like, at least long enough to point out favourites and maybe introduce you if Jake shows up. Although I doubt it, I’m pretty sure he’s busy painting.”

“Yeah, sure.” He looked at Richard and Dora. “Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” Richard said, and Dora nodded agreement. “Enjoy the paintings. The mermaid one is interesting as a setting for singing. Possibly more so than the nightclub one, although tastes vary of course.”

“I’ll remember that,” Trace said, and went with Neon, out of the room and towards the main stairs.

Paintings that one could actually step into would be intense enough for him to concentrate on that and not the sad feeling deep inside, right?