Inside the manor was dark and cold. Cobwebs covered every corner of every room and piece of furniture. Dust, inches thick, sat undisturbed on the tops of the bar and tables. Curtains and fabric were tattered and faded, wallpaper peeling, and it was painfully obvious that the manor has gone a long while without electricity, heat, or guests.
There were loud thumps outside of the manor. Thumps like someone clumsily walking, getting closer and closer to the door.
The door burst open, and Saria stumbled into the manor. She looked around, eyes squinting, trying to decipher where she was. It was clear by her demeaner and her clothing that she was drunk, most likely an attempt to drown her memories and her sorrow. So it was a curious thing that, in her attempts to forget, she found her way back to her manor.
She coughed roughly and attempted to close the door behind her, which only banged on the hinges and didn't close properly. She grabbed onto the wall in an attempt to steady herself and slowly made her way into the bar area.
"Holy s**t," she slurred, looking around. "This place looks like hell."
She stumbled over to the bar and sat down at the seat she always took all those years ago. She laid her head onto the dusty bar, too drunk and too cold to care. Her black locks fell around her face; a face beginning to age, with years and with despair. She closed her eyes and imagined how full of life the Heartless Manor used to be. Perhaps, if she died here, she could at least trick herself into believing she died at the highlight of her life.