For a few moments, Jack was quiet. He reached up and scratched his head as he thought. "None of the Messengers are entirely sure. Not even the Elders, a couple of which have visited that place of existence. The only plausible reason we can decide on is that, since our soul is detached from both reality and the realm that exists beside living reality, we no longer apply to the laws the Lord set in place. It does take a lot to kill a Messenger, however. No human can accomplish that feat. Only powerful demons can, after they embed us with a debilitating curse that slowly drains what little existence we have left away."

Jack sighed, stepping around the center island and Emily. "Come now, Emily. The bedrooms are upstairs, along with a sunroom and the bathrooms." He led her along, up the stairs in the foyer and turning on the hall light. Right across from the stairs a small sitting area stood with a heavily-laden bookshelf and window looking out to the back yard. "I've carried some old clothes from my little sister all over with me." He added as he pointed to a slightly ajar door to the left, along the left side of the hallway. "They're outdated, considering they came from mid 1800s England, but they ought to be okay for a day or two until we can get everything situated."

Jack stepped back. "I'll let you take a look around on your own if you like; so if you need to find me, I'll be in the basement." He hurried downstairs and through the living room. Before he reached the door that led to the study and reading room, he arrived at a more narrow door that led to the basement stairwell. It was a finished area that spanned the entirety of the ground floor of the house, and also housed the utility room, canned food storage, and the laundry room. He'd left in a hurry, and had to forget about the clothes in the washer. Lori's clothes were there. Luckily, just fine. Damn my forgetfulness. Jack's mind scolded him lightly.

(( Sorry for the wait! I went off and drew for awhile. ))

What Jack was saying made sense, and after a moment, Emily found it to be a reasonable enough explanation. There wasn't much to really counter it, either. This was all so new to her, and she barely knew just a little about what a Messenger really was, or what they even did daily. When Jack dropped her off at the room, she said a thanks and "See you later, then." to him. Now, she was going to find something new to wear, her shirt had been torn quite a bit, and obviously, stained with blood.

She walked to the closet and opened it, seeing quite a number of old Victorian styled dresses. A lot quite poofy and ruffley. They were pretty, but she wasn't seeing much she felt like she'd be comfortable in. She was never big on dresses, and these were a bit.. much. In between a dark purple and green one, however, was a fairly simple white one, with blue frills. Emily chose it and shut the closet, changing out of her bloodied and torn clothing into the dress. It was a little small, but it fit well enough. She decided to leave her shoes off, realizing how silly she'd look with such an old styled dress and furry winter boots.

((Quite all right. I've seen your drawings, the ones in your profile. Quite well done!))

Jack stepped back up and out of the basement, tossing his black tie to the back of one of the nearby armchairs and passing it. He'd not wanted to come home so early tonight. While Lori and Angelina were in the city, getting a feel for their new stomping ground, he was left alone more often than not. As they'd recently moved here, it was best to quickly understand your location. Jack had already gotten an understanding of it on his weekly treks a few months before they'd permanently settled down. He honestly felt like those two were his siblings, though he felt a more fatherly disposition for little Angelina. She looked like such an angel. Perhaps it was how she could so easily calm the newly dead and help them move on. But now there was Emily. She was new. She was now a Messenger. It'd take a while to get used to it, he was sure.

Walking around the couches, he went to the rocking chair and sat. When his parents disappeared, he took on the role of father, being the oldest of six children at twenty years old. He'd always sat in a rocking chair in the evenings, in front of a little fire. They'd never been too well off, but they did okay, despite struggling a little after Mother and Father vanished. He'd sit and rock the youngest to sleep, and watch over the others as they turned simple things into amazing toys, and turned toys into even greater things. Though now the fireplace to his right was empty, he could almost hear the crackling of dry wood and smell the light charred scent. With a sigh, he looked to the small table beside him. A compilation of poems from various long-dead authors rested within, and he picked it up.

Hopefully Emily would retain what he told her, and what the others might want to add of their own experiences, when they came back in the morning. It was dangerous to go right into everything even a little clueless.