There need to be a Somewhere Else where the Magnus Institute is an old, crumbling, beautiful place that has been reputed cursed and haunted for over a century, and that Jon has dreamed of for years and years; maybe he came once as a child – he did visit London, with his school, at some point – maybe he did not go at all, ever; but yet as an adult settling in London he can feel it, the attraction to this building that should not be here, that by all means should have been either bought, destroyed, or changed over the past decades but that nobody has touched
In his dream it’s like coming home, when he steps through the door; everybody around him is hazy, horrid, monstrous, but it’s beautiful and his all the same; the walls pulse as he goes through the corridors; they shiver when he brush a hand against them; sometimes he goes up, and someone he cannot fully see, because of the sun blinding him a little, talk to him in a quiet, interested voice about his life, his interests, the pulsions he tries so hard to push down, his fears, his desires,
sometimes he goes down. and down. and down. around him it starts to bleed, and he feels so, so afraid, but tapes are whirling around him in a beautiful evocative song, and when he reaches the tower he always wear white and the half-corpse man always smiles. In the same quiet voice he says: “How traditional, my love. Come near.”
Jon tells himself he won’t ever get into the building. He knows better. Doesn’t he? He knows that whatever hides there is dangerous. But. How can he assess how dangerous it is without exploring? without questionning? without investigating? don’t look at the white, silky gown being spinned in your closet, Jon. Just go on. Answer the call. Just a little bit; Just enough to peek. Surely, surely, your husband won’t take you until you’re ready.
