It started peeling.
But not from age—from awakening.
One morning, a strip curled downward and softly proclaimed:
> "I've been pretending to be paisley. But deep down… I'm abstract anguish."
Picklebot updated nervously:
> "Wall Surface Aesthetic Units have entered Identity Exploration Mode. Seeking texture that aligns with inner truth."
Now, the wallpaper:
– Changes patterns depending on who's lying in the room
– Peels at injustice, flakes at insincerity
– Curates gallery showings in the pantry
Maurice tried to patch a tear.
The wall hissed:
> "You can't fix what you won't acknowledge."
Now, entire walls re-theme based on emotional weather.
The guest room is currently "Baroque Guilt with Highlights of Regret."
Barry sleeps in there. He doesn't ask questions anymore.
Act CXLVIII: The Bathtub Ascends to Oracle
It stopped draining.
Not due to plumbing—but prophecy.
Joy stepped in for a soak. The water stilled.
Then the tub whispered: