Kyrie decided the first course of action should be to put her things away. The others were still exploring downstairs, voices drifting faintly up through the open stairwell, but she preferred getting settled first. It gave her a sense of grounding; something familiar before diving into whatever this weekend was going to become.
She found her door again and pushed it open cautiously, the hinges creaking softly. The bedroom beyond was small but inviting.
A comfortable-looking bed sat against the far wall, layered with thick blankets and a quilt that looked handmade, stitched in muted earth tones. At the foot of the bed rested a sturdy wooden trunk, its iron fittings slightly worn but well-maintained, clearly intended for storage during their stay.
A simple wooden table and chair occupied one corner of the room, along with a metal cup and a small clay decanter partially filled with water. The arrangement looked intentionally rustic, but practical. Someone had clearly thought through what guests might need.
In the opposite corner sat another object: a ceramic pot with a fitted lid. Kyrie eyed it for a moment, then nodded to herself. Chamber pot. Not glamorous, but certainly better than navigating the muddy path to the outhouses in the middle of the night.
She stepped inside and let the door ease shut behind her, then shrugged off her heavy backpack and set both it and her suitcase on the bed. The sudden relief of weight lifting from her shoulders made her sigh quietly.
“Much better,” she murmured to herself.
Her fingers began drumming absently against the top of the trunk as she looked around the cozy little space, taking in the details. That’s when she noticed the flowers.
A small clay pot sat on the windowsill, holding a cluster of fresh blooms. Their petals were pale, somewhere between white and soft lavender, and their leaves were a deep, healthy green. They looked freshly cut, as though someone had placed them there just before the guests arrived.
Kyrie leaned closer, curiosity getting the better of her, and gave them a cautious sniff. The scent was pleasant and gently fragrant; something floral with a faint sweetness beneath it. Familiar, yet not quite. She frowned slightly, trying to place it, but nothing came to mind. The shape of the petals felt just a little unusual too, subtly different from anything she recognized.
Still, it was a nice touch. “Points for atmosphere,” she murmured quietly.
She straightened and glanced toward the hallway again. Her room sat directly across from Amanda and Casey’s, and their door was open as they unpacked. Their voices drifted into the corridor: casual conversation, the rustle of bags, and the occasional laugh.
“…I’m claiming the side closest to the window,” Amanda said.
“You always do,” Casey replied, amused.
“It’s strategic. If something breaks in, I can jump out faster.”
Kyrie smiled faintly at that. She had worried, briefly, about sleeping alone. The isolation of the tavern, the strangers in neighboring rooms, the dense forest outside; it should have been unsettling. Under normal circumstances, it probably would have been.
But instead, the space felt… comfortable. Safe, even. The soft patter of rain against the window, the muted voices nearby, the faint scent of unfamiliar flowers, it all created an oddly soothing atmosphere.
For the first time since stepping off the bus, Kyrie felt herself relax. Whatever this weekend held, at least her room felt like a place she could rest.