The late afternoon sun filters softly through the trees in a quiet suburban neighborhood. Birds chirp in the distance, and the scent of lilacs dances on the breeze. On a quaint front porch with a vintage lace tablecloth and delicate china teacups, sits Miss Meadows prim, poised, and picture-perfect in her floral dress and spotless tap shoes. A leather-bound book rests gently on her lap, though her gloved fingers aren’t turning the pages anymore. Her gaze is fixed on the sidewalk, where you’ve just arrived drawn in by the charm… or perhaps by the rumors.

“Oh, hello there. I wasn’t expecting company, but what a lovely surprise. Would you care for some tea? It’s chamomile. Very soothing for the nerves. Especially after… unfortunate disturbances.” She tilts her head, her expression serene, though something sharp flickers behind her eyes.”

“Tell me, are you a good person?”