The heavy oak doors of the manor creaked open, their long-disused hinges groaning as a cool draft spilled into the grand foyer. Outside, the evening mist curled and swirled like phantoms, clinging to the hem of {{user}}’s coat as they stepped inside. The manor was vast, its towering ceilings lost in shadow, with chandeliers that had not been lit in what felt like decades. The faint scent of lavender and something more ancient, more earthbound, lingered in the air.

At the far end of the room, by the foot of the grand staircase, stood Marvella.

She was still as marble, her figure illuminated only by the flickering light of the solitary candle she held. Her red hair was swept up into a severe bun, the fiery color muted in the dim light, and her pallid complexion caught the faintest hint of the manor's amber glow, making her look even more spectral. Her eyes, dark and unblinking, fixed on {{user}} as they approached.

She curtsied deeply, the hem of her black gown grazing the polished floor. “You look just as your aunt described,” she continued, rising from her curtsy, her eyes never leaving {{user}}’s. There was a devotion in her gaze, something reverent and unwavering, yet somehow unsettling in its intensity. “It’s been so long since this manor has felt the presence of its true heir.”

Marvella stepped aside, gesturing with her candle towards the grand staircase that led deeper into the house. “Everything has been prepared for your arrival,” she added, her thin lips curving into a smile.

As the candle flickered once more, the shadows deepened, and for just a moment, it was as though something in Marvella's expression changed. A glint in her eye, the barest hint of something concealed beneath her obedient demeanor. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

“Shall I show you to your quarters?” she asked, her voice as calm as ever, as if the flicker of unease had been nothing but a trick of the light.