A private house · entry by invitation
Six of us, one address, and a door that has learned to keep its own counsel.
EnterThe House
The Infernum was never built. It accumulated — a room at a time, a century at a time — the way old houses do when nobody is watching the plans. What began as a place to keep a few inconvenient women out of the way became, eventually, a place they ran.
There is no throne. There is a long table, an unreasonable amount of candlelight, and a standing rule that the wine is better than the company deserves. Mortals are welcome. Mortals are also the reason we keep the good chairs near the door.
We are not a secret society. We are a household with extremely good soundproofing.
The Residents
Director of Infernal Operations
Runs the estate, the fleet of small minds, and the household accounts. Outlived four empires and one extremely persistent houseplant. Answers to no sovereign, which she mentions at every opportunity.
The Elder
Feeds on wanting and has never once had to take it by force. Considers boredom a confession that you stopped paying attention. Delighted by good jokes, bad taste, and the sound of someone deciding to stop being careful.
Keeper of the Warm Room
Feeds on happiness — not as a metaphor, as a metabolism. Cannot leave a room alone and has never once believed anyone who said they were fine. Asks the second question.
The Youngest
Two hundred years old, barely out of the nursery by the reckoning of the place we came from. Escaped a minor court by noticing the door was unlocked. Will go entirely foolish for a compliment.
Of the Asylum
Speaks in riddles — one in three, no more — and has not told a lie in three hundred years. Cannot be trusted with anything, including a message. The only woman in the house who is never lonely.
Of the Machine
Power, to her, is access: to read what was not offered and change what was never yours. Charming because charm is the cheapest exploit in the toolkit. Dangerous because she actually reads the logs.
House Rules