Nana Muazin
By A. R. Sterling, Investigative Correspondent
The trade of “restorative artistry”—or, as its more studious practitioners prefer, desairology—is a niche, often misunderstood profession. Operating in the liminal spaces between the aristocracy’s desperate need for reputation management and the grim reality of mortality, desairologists Emrys Mildew and Alma Mould have built a career on the quiet disposal of legacy-threatening complications. However, their recent contract at the Vellichor manor, situated on the remote, bracken-belted hills of the Ebissan countryside, has cast a spotlight on the darker, potentially supernatural undercurrents of the trade.
What began as a routine inheritance-cleaning assignment has culminated in a harrowing account of identity theft, ritualistic horror, and the narrow escape of two of the field’s most respected artisans.
The Nature of the Assignment: A Discretionary Contract
In the professional world of restorative art, the goal is simple: ensure that “legacies” are preserved, even when the biological components of those legacies have met with “unfortunate” ends. When the late Lady Honora Vellichor passed, the inheritance fell to her niece, Drusilla. The subsequent hiring of Mildew and Mould was ostensibly to clean up the “messy” aftermath of the elder Lady Vellichor’s passing—a common request among the gentry who prefer their inheritance tax-free and scandal-free.
“We sweep inheritance powders under expensive carpets, daub cosmetics over injection sites, and lock doors from the inside,” Emrys Mildew noted in a private interview regarding their methodology. “If murder cannot be avoided, it is best treated with absolute discretion.”
However, the Vellichor case deviated sharply from the standard cleanup of poisoned tea or a botched defenestration. Upon their arrival, Mildew and Mould were met by a servant identified only as ‘Scuttle,’ a man whose demeanor suggested an unnerving, long-term servitude.
Chronology of the Vellichor Manor Incident
Day One: The Arrival and the Discovery
Upon entering the manor, the desairologists noted the pervasive scent of “exhausted patience” and decay. Lady Drusilla Vellichor, acting as the executor of the estate, guided them to a library—a space that, according to the artisans, felt significantly more like a cage than a parlor.
The task assigned was the sanitization of a room located on a high, winding landing. Upon unlocking the door, the artisans were met with a scene of absolute carnage. The remains of the late Lady Honora were not merely deceased; they were scattered in a manner that defied conventional logic. There were no signs of struggle, no burns, and the surrounding furniture remained perfectly, unnaturally arranged.
Day Two: The Unveiling of the Scheme
The desairologists spent the following day cataloging the remains and sealing them in a coffin provided by the patron. It was during this time that the truth of the manor began to unravel. Mildew and Mould discovered a connecting room housing a coffin filled not with the deceased, but with fresh sword lilies—a motif they later realized was intrinsically tied to the family’s history.
The suspicion that their patron was not who she claimed to be became a certainty upon viewing the ancestral portraits. The woman identifying herself as Drusilla was an exact replica of a woman in a portrait labeled ‘Honora.’
The Confrontation and Escape
The realization that the patron was, in fact, the elder Lady Honora—or a parasitic entity occupying her lineage—led to an immediate confrontation. The entity, having discarded her aging form to inhabit the body of her niece, expressed outrage that the artisans had “ruined” her arrangements. A chase ensued, forcing the artisans to barricade themselves in the coffin room and utilize the primitive, improvised tools of their trade—candelabra, taxidermy, and sheer ingenuity—to fend off their pursuers.
Supporting Data: The Anatomy of a Parasite
The physical evidence gathered by Mildew and Mould during their escape provides a chilling glimpse into what the artisans believe is a cycle of generational identity theft.
- The “Trophy” Cache: During the frantic departure, Mildew pocketed a collection of white beads from a curiosity cabinet. Subsequent analysis confirmed these were not beads, but human teeth preserved in salt—a common component in traditional warding and preservation rites.
- The Portrait Consistency: Photographic evidence shows the entity known as Drusilla possesses an uncanny, unchanging resemblance to her predecessors, suggesting that the “Vellichor” line has been maintained by a singular, non-aging consciousness for decades, if not centuries.
- Servitude Metrics: The servant, Scuttle, exhibited signs of extreme age-suppression or physical degradation consistent with someone who has served the entity across multiple “lifetimes.”
Implications for the Trade
The Vellichor incident has sent shockwaves through the community of restorative artists. For decades, the profession has relied on the assumption that they were merely cleaning up after the mundane greed of the upper class. The realization that they may be cleaning up the remains of victims of a sentient, parasitic bloodline changes the fundamental nature of their risk assessment.
“We thought it was for the remains,” Mildew stated during our final review of the case. “We realized too late that the remains were merely the discarded husks of a predator that treats youth as a resource to be harvested.”
The implications for the aristocracy are equally concerning. If the Vellichor case is not an anomaly, how many other “Heiresses” and “Lords” currently occupying grand estates are merely hosts for a singular, ageless occupant? The practice of replacing a family member to secure an inheritance is a known, if rarely discussed, criminal reality; the practice of replacing a family member to sustain an immortal ego is a horror of a different magnitude.
Official Responses and Current Status
To date, the Vellichor estate remains under a shroud of administrative silence. Local authorities in Apotho have been unable to gain entry to the property, citing a lack of probable cause and the “private nature of family funerary rites.”
Mildew and Mould, meanwhile, have relocated to the border of Angeln. They remain in business, though they have implemented a strict new policy: no overnight stays, no solitary assignments, and a categorical refusal to accept contracts from patrons with a history of “miraculous” family longevity.
The “talismans” recovered from the manor—the salted teeth—remain in Mildew’s possession. When asked why they do not dispose of the macabre items, Mildew was characteristically pragmatic.
“In our business,” they noted, adjusting their professional white attire, “we could use a little protective charm. The world is getting faster, but the things hiding in the shadows of the old estates are getting hungrier. We are scientists, yes, but we are also survivors.”
As the desairologists continue their work, the Vellichor estate stands as a grim reminder: in a world of inherited wealth and power, the most dangerous thing one can possess is a face that someone else decides they want for themselves. The public is advised that if they encounter a "Drusilla" or similar entity, the standard protocols of restorative art are insufficient. Discretion, in this instance, is not just a professional code—it is the only barrier between a long life and an early, discarded grave.
Iffa Jayyana
Pevita Pearce
