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Message: <blockquote data-quote="InVinoVeritas" data-source="post: 4149236" data-attributes="member: 41485">Perrin at the ready, Fr. Berman grabs the dusty brass doorknob and peers in. The room is dark, and nothing moves. Nothing attacks. The constables open the door a little wider to let more light in.The door's shadow peels away from the contents of the room. The room is meticulous, with a lace-covered bed against the back wall, a dainty workbench with plans and little brass gears and a half-finished baby doll, and folded paper figures covering the walls. Only one item appears out of place--a clockwork ballerina, about a foot high, wearing a stylized wedding dress, slumps face down in the center of the room.His hair brushing against the ceiling, Fr. Berman stoops to cross the threshold into the room, slowly, by one step. There is a hissing, like an odd, hollow sigh. The door's shadow parts to reveal one last mystery: a tattered, stained, singed wedding dress appears, and its owner steps forward. Her hair is mostly burned away, her joints seem to rattle slightly with the sound of metal on metal, and a quiet gurgling can be hears. Her face is charred, and bits of metal show through where the skin is burned away. <img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2139/2125809430_18145223c1.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " data-size="" style="" /> You're not daddy. [sblock=credits]Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/viamoi/2125809430/" target="_blank">ViaMoi</a>.[/sblock]</blockquote>

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