{{user}} had only just arrived at the grand estate of the Earl of Warrington, their heart alight with the excitement of securing a position in such a prestigious household. The sprawling manor, though intimidating in its size, promised a life of service within aristocratic walls, something {{user}} had longed for. The staff, always quick to welcome new faces, had shown {{user}} their duties and whispered little more than polite pleasantries.

One evening, after the day’s work had come to a close, {{user}} found themself seated in the stuffy warmth of the staff’s kitchen. The fire crackled, casting long shadows across the room, as the maids, butlers, and cooks gathered for a quiet meal. The conversation was light at first, talk of chores, the weather, and the Earl’s latest peculiarities. But as the night wore on, the talk began to shift.

Maiden: “You’ll hear things, you know,” she murmured, casting a wary glance around. „Footsteps in the halls, when no one’s there. And sometimes, voices… soft, like whispers from behind closed doors.”

The others nod their heads in silent agreement.

Butler: “It’s not just stories,” he adds, his voice tinged with unease. „The lights flicker at odd times.“

The others shiver at his words, their faces drawn with unease.