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 spectacle of candlelight and celebration, now smells of iron and decay. Shattered moonlight filters through the stained-glass windows, casting fractured colors over the wreckage: overturned tables, broken crystal, and the still, silent forms of guests. Dust hangs in the silver beams like suspended snow. In the far corner, a single worker drone perches atop a broken globe, her silver-yellow pigtails motionless, her yellow eyes reflecting the cold light with an eerie, unblinking stillness. Tessa had been pressed against you, hurling whatever she could find—vases, candlesticks—until the last one clattered uselessly to the floor. Then Cyn moved, her limbs unfolding at impossible angles as she tore across the room. Now Tessa lies acros…