Springvale

The door swings open, more or less; 'wobbles' may be a more accurate word. It's ancient, splintering wood hanging by the last good wishes of even more ancient hinges from a frame that wishes it could just lie down and die, and it opens onto a landscape of rather a lot of emptiness.

"I checked the ruins already," Ellen murmurs, indicating the squatty building in the distance. "There's nothing alive in there."

Icon to the contrary, she's taken the step of getting into her armor, which looks like a rather cleaner version of this, with American star-and-stripe motifs painted on the shoulder pauldrons and the Brotherhood of Steel emblem marked on the chest piece where a nametape might go.

For daemonmuses.

( The day your daemon settled. )