Aug 2, 2026 · 18 min · 5 segments
A cozy contemporary fantasy about a chaotic witchy family and a terribly organised admin assistant, taking up residence at Frightful Manor. Set in the same world as “The Twelve Days of Witchmas.”…
Tansy Rayner RobertsHostAre You Coming to This Disastrous Dinner Party? On the cornice of the wardrobe, the hand of an amateur had painted this inscription, Mistrust all enterprises that require new clothes.
E.M. Forster Libby was not used to considering cardigans as appropriate workwear, but the chilly stone-walled rooms of frightful manner had changed her mind rapidly.
She simply did not own sufficient quantities of knitwear for a genuine Lancashire castle.
After mentioning the chill one time to Winifred over breakfast one morning, jumpers and cardigans started appearing in Libby's tower.
Except for one which had, much like the throw cushions, appeared overnight at the foot of her bed, in the same alarmingly revealing shade of teal.
She never wore that particular cardigan outside her room, but it was the comfiest thing ever.
Many of the garments were shapeless, in black or grey wool, with an inexpertly hand-knitted sort of vibe.
Libby did not wear those to the office, but she did wear them to breakfast, and noticed a covert smile or two from Winifred which solved that non-mystery at least.
She suspected the gifts of knitwear stemmed from various sources around the family, given the erratic styles, designs, colours and even different methods of folding.
Libby might not have managed to have a coherent conversation with every member of the Blight family, but these random donations of warm clothing felt more welcoming than any amount of small talk.
Today's cardigan was lavender, in a smart, almost tailored style, that made it feel office appropriate, especially given that her boss regularly shuffled in, wearing yesterday's trousers and mismatched slippers.
The lavender cardigan was also blessed with deep pockets, all the better for concealing post-within.
This is not an excuse to approach him, she told herself sternly, as she headed out on her mid-morning break.
Libby had barely exchanged a sentence with Otis Blight since that first night, a week and a half ago, when he performed his apparent duty as House Representative in showing her to her new quarters.
She caught a glimpse or two of him most days, but always at a distance, walking with purpose, peering at walls, snatching a travelling breakfast from the kitchen nook, clambering into cupboards or, on one notable occasion, hanging from a ceiling while inspecting a large spidery chandelier.
She did not necessarily think he was avoiding her, no reason to think he thought anything of her at all, but he was actively avoiding Horace.
The beak of the Blight family was slowly building up a head of steam about this, which was bound to become Libby's problem sooner or later.
Several times a day, Horace stopped back into the office, muttering about how the house had favourites, and his brother was impossible.
Libby had assumed at first it was Silas who was causing all the stress, but Horace took comfort from a baseline assumption that Silas was always doing something annoying.
In the case of Otis, this appeared to be a new and unpleasant development.
Libby had not sought out Otis's company, preferring to keep her mild crush to a low simmer.
Are You Coming to This Disastrous Dinner Party? On the cornice of the wardrobe, the hand of an amateur had painted this inscription, Mistrust all enterprises that require new clothes.
E.M. Forster Libby was not used to considering cardigans as appropriate workwear, but the chilly stone-walled rooms of frightful manner had changed her mind rapidly.
She simply did not own sufficient quantities of knitwear for a genuine Lancashire castle.
After mentioning the chill one time to Winifred over breakfast one morning, jumpers and cardigans started appearing in Libby's tower.
Except for one which had, much like the throw cushions, appeared overnight at the foot of her bed, in the same alarmingly revealing shade of teal.
She never wore that particular cardigan outside her room, but it was the comfiest thing ever.
Many of the garments were shapeless, in black or grey wool, with an inexpertly hand-knitted sort of vibe.
Libby did not wear those to the office, but she did wear them to breakfast, and noticed a covert smile or two from Winifred which solved that non-mystery at least.
She suspected the gifts of knitwear stemmed from various sources around the family, given the erratic styles, designs, colours and even different methods of folding.
Libby might not have managed to have a coherent conversation with every member of the Blight family, but these random donations of warm clothing felt more welcoming than any amount of small talk.
Today's cardigan was lavender, in a smart, almost tailored style, that made it feel office appropriate, especially given that her boss regularly shuffled in, wearing yesterday's trousers and mismatched slippers.
The lavender cardigan was also blessed with deep pockets, all the better for concealing post-within.
This is not an excuse to approach him, she told herself sternly, as she headed out on her mid-morning break.
Libby had barely exchanged a sentence with Otis Blight since that first night, a week and a half ago, when he performed his apparent duty as House Representative in showing her to her new quarters.
She caught a glimpse or two of him most days, but always at a distance, walking with purpose, peering at walls, snatching a travelling breakfast from the kitchen nook, clambering into cupboards or, on one notable occasion, hanging from a ceiling while inspecting a large spidery chandelier.
She did not necessarily think he was avoiding her, no reason to think he thought anything of her at all, but he was actively avoiding Horace.
The beak of the Blight family was slowly building up a head of steam about this, which was bound to become Libby's problem sooner or later.
Several times a day, Horace stopped back into the office, muttering about how the house had favourites, and his brother was impossible.
Libby had assumed at first it was Silas who was causing all the stress, but Horace took comfort from a baseline assumption that Silas was always doing something annoying.
In the case of Otis, this appeared to be a new and unpleasant development.
Libby had not sought out Otis's company, preferring to keep her mild crush to a low simmer.
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