Day 558

The house had once been a decadent paradise for its owners.
Former plush chaise lounges were now moth-eaten, good for firewood and little else.
Wallpaper peeled and cracked where mould had seeped into the poorly ventilated home.
It grew in clumps so thick that mushrooms sprouted in placed.

Few even knew it existed, the surrounding woods were so dense that hardly anyone ventured in.
At least they went no further than the small clearing full of bluebells.
Everyone stops by the bluebells at some point in their life and they never quite know why.
Nor do they know how tantalisingly close they are to a house full of dilapidated wealth.

Past it's creaking, cracking corridors lay rooms full of priceless jewellery.
The last owners had died within its walls, "sacking"every servant until only they two remained.
From there it was a steady decline down until the house was practically swallowed whole by
the surrounding woods, all traces of the ornate walkways that lead to it gone.

Urban legends say that if you find the corpses of the last owners you'll find the code to their safe.
Apparently they had amassed quite a fortune in their years and had no heirs to give it to.
Their bodies lie in their favoured area of the home - the greenhouse.
From a fair height you can see it glinting along the treeline, glass perfectly intact still.

Now it tends to blend in more with its surroundings due to the thick layer of moss on the inside.
The humid air has left all the plants to fester in their own little ecosystem.
Their main source of nutrition was once imported compost from continental Europe.
Now they feasted on the remnants of the household.