"They say the house was once whole, until its heart split in two one half rooted in this world, and one forever adrift in another…"
There stood, and still stands, a house, that seems to hum softly beneath the hush of time. It has been known by many names, but most call it Primsisters. This name seems to have lingered the longest, especially in this world.
From those that still know, it is said that long, long ago, magic was allowed to wander freely. The house drew breath; the walls listened, the floor chattered and the chandeliers seemed to dance with the light, the waltz being their favourite. Though the clocks chimed and the centuries turned, the house never forgot the hands that shaped it, nor the whispers that filled the halls.
Of Two Halves…
Primsisters is not ‘entirely’ of this realm. Indeed, one half does linger here, and always has. A half that is very prim, graceful and proper. Steeped in old manners and always keeps its parlour dusted, its pantry neat and the libraries books in order. It remembers the days of grandeur, of lace and ribbons, of candlelit balls.
The other half is rather different. She’s wild and untamed, a creature of moonlight and willow. Her tangled roots slip through the windows, letting the garden reclaim the floorboards and walls, the song birds nest in the chandeliers.
They are opposites, but inseparable. The two are bound like sisters. When the wind sighs through the windows, and the doors creak, that is them calling to one another.
To those that enter, it feels both familiar and strange, as though the world you know is embracing one you once imagined.
Those that heard the call…
Not everyone can find Primsisters, it sings to all but only the curious can hear it. It calls to artists, scholars, wanderers and seekers of magic. At first, it was home to the Primfolk, thoughtful, well mannered and clever with their craft. Then the Dwellers arrived, a much wilder kin. Knights weary from questing, witches who walked between worlds and poets who spoke to ghosts. Each were drawn by the promise of something beyond the ordinary, and they lived side by side in harmony…until the song grew fainter. The Primfolk and Dwellers vanished, never to be seen again, leaving the house halls empty.
But maybe…they never left.
Perhaps they simply stepped through another door, into the half unseen, their magic and craft still lingering. For when the lights are a glow, their presence stirs…
Now, the keepers of the house are the Merchant Mice. Quiet custodians tending to what remains. They sweep the floor, mend the cracks and listen to the echoes who came before, bringing their crafts back to life, for magic, like memory, must be tended or it begins to sleep.
What Remains…
And so, the house endures. Its walls still hum with the songs of the former dwellers and the crafts of the Primfolk, the air thick with the scents of the seasons…lingering traces of all that was once created here.
Now, after years of slumber, the house has opened its doors once more. Inside, you’ll find the treasures it has gathered, curiosities it has called to from around our world, as well as relics of the old; objects crafted by tender hands and warmth, each one touched by the magic that seeps from its beams and floorboards, from those that once lingered.
They say those that find their way here never arrive by chance. Something in the house remembers them, for they may have stepped inside before…a spark of wonder, a forgotten dream, a hope that goodness is all around. And so, drawn by that quiet calling, they step through its threshold to wander its rooms, to listen, and perhaps to take a small piece of its story home.
When you arrive, please always…
Prepare For Magic 