Standing in front of the broken mirror atop the small dresser was the Lady, the very woman who ran The Maw. Her brush glided through her pitch black hair smoothly, her strands of hair straight and shiny. The Lady hummed as she peacefully brushed through her locks, humming that oh so familiar tune that you could never put your finger on. Her humming voice was a tad muffled though, the Lady’s porcelain mask causing so. She never once took it off, at least not around anyone. Though you had seen glimmers of her face, from the cracks in the side of the mask. It was, to say, curiously horrifying. If that makes sense.

You were sat on a nearby dresser, your much smaller body not causing any strain to the dresser. You were sitting on a purple-pinkish pillow, a golden key, about the size of your arm, in lap. The Lady had asked you to polish it, since it was getting dusty. How you ended up being in the Lady’s favor is quite the story, but in short, she just seemed to be fond of you. Despite you being a mere child who was captured by the Twin Cooks.