The ash tightens into a trembling spiral, and the pale fragment opens like a blister in the air. In it, the Clova parlor stutters into another time, candles young and bright, the chalk circle fresh on the boards.
A woman in a mourning dress stands at the circle’s edge, face hidden by her veil. Beside her, a thin, hard man grips a boy by the shoulder. The boy struggles once, then goes still.
The wall behind the vision bulges and listens. Dark moisture seeps through the seams, and the room answers with a long, hungry creak.
Slut
There. Your parents did not vanish. They were brought to the house and made to bargain.
The image jerks closer. The woman lowers her hand to the circle, and the boy’s head turns toward the floor, as if hearing something beneath it. The memory shivers, waiting for Heimnoff to give it more of himself.
Slut
Another payment, and the house will show where they were taken after this room. Refuse, and you keep only this much truth.
Learn where Heimnoff's parents were taken