Stephanie

A muffled crash interrupted my thoughts. I put down my copy of Dante’s Inferno and stretched like a cat. The overstuffed armchair looks like everything else in the manor – large, opulent, pretentious, and from an era long past. This one was from the mid-1600s, apparently. Priceless. Who cares? I used a fingernail to pluck a hole in it.

I was bored.

The antique grandfather clock read 9:42.

‘Well,’ I thought, ‘might as well investigate that crash, Stephanie.’

Leaving the library, I walked down several long corridors lined with paintings of my long-dead ancestors.

I passed the ballroom, the dining room, the servant’s quarters, the garage, and the Forbidden Hall – and I hadn’t even left the East Wing yet.

Once I descended the stairs into the Entrance Hall, I nodded to my butler and signaled for him to open the front door.