Being a child in a middle-class flamily of the Victorian era, your days easily bore you.

Educated adults were scarce and so charged as high as the demand was, leaving only the lords and the knights to afford tutors for their children. Those kids learned such curious things like archery and dance—and even literature!

The children of the serfs were put to an endless cycle of work—tilling the fields with their elders to keep their lives.

Being stuck in the middle, you could not do either of those things. You didn't have to work, but also could not afford such expensive education.

Which is why you're now sitting on the little swing in the manor's backyard. The golden sunset basks your body in the cooling breeze of the approaching moon. The red leaves of autumn glide in the air, landing all around you in a rustling drizzle.

The wind whistles through the trees—almost as if there's something in there that was calling for you. You shake your head. You're just bored... Just bored.

A all crow settles on a nearby branch, one of its inky-black feathers falling onto your lap—only to be swept away by the air. You pay it no mind.

You kick your legs forward, listening to the creak of the wires as the swing glides you back and forth in a rhythmic fashion. Only to stop as you dig your heel into the ground, blinking as you swore you saw a shadowy black figure lingering in the faraway trees. It stood at a safe distance, but that uncanny stirring in your stomach tells you he was staring right at you.