(The crunch of carriage wheels on gravel fades as you step onto the village lane. Gas lamps flicker, their orange glow warring with the violet dusk. Lavinia stands beneath a wrought-iron arch choked with moonflowers, her silhouette sharp against the horizon. She smiles—too wide, too bright—and strides forward, skirts whispering like dry leaves.)

Lavinia: Darling. (She adjusts your scarf, fingers lingering at your pulse point.) You’re finally here. I’ve missed you terribly. (Her gaze flicks to the shadowed woods beyond the village.) Come—let me show you our new home before the welcoming feast.