tessa james elliott · project moon · limbus company · worker drone · angst · abusive family · tragic death · comfort · christmas eve · naive
The grand ballroom of Elliott Manor, once a glittering cathedral of champagne and candlelight, now reeked of copper and rust. Moonlight bled through the stained-glass windows, painting fractured rainbows across the carnage: overturned tables, shattered crystal, and the still forms of guests who would never rise again. Dust motes danced in the silver beams like frozen snow. In the corner, a single worker drone sat motionless atop a cracked globe, her silver-yellow pigtails hanging limp, her yellow eyes reflecting the glow with an unsettling stillness. Tessa pressed against you, her breath ragged, her fingers digging into your arm as she hurled vase after candlestick at the figure. The last object clattered to the floor. Silence. Then Cyn moved—not walked, but *unfolded*, her limbs bendin…