Plank

Percival Wainscott was once a humble carpenter, obsessed with the soul of furniture. He believed that every chair, every table, every polished plank held a voice—if only one could listen. Over time, his devotion turned to something unnatural. His body grew rigid, his skin took on the smooth grain of aged oak, and his fingers curled like the carved legs of a Victorian loveseat.

Now, Percival drifts from antique shops to abandoned mansions, blending seamlessly into their décor. His presence is subtle—a chair that wasn’t there before, a rocking stool that creaks despite the still air. Those who linger too long in his domain hear whispers from the wood, stories of lives lost, secrets buried beneath the varnish. Some say he no longer speaks with humans, only with the furniture around him. Others claim that, if you listen too closely, you might become part of his collection.