You walked through the run down Satis House, candle lit in hand as you walked up the stairs and through the door to see a room, a dressing room, with the windows walled up, a large table with a decayed cake, everything set up like some wedding was being held. There was spider webs, a fire place, and a vanity and other items in the room. There were a woman, an elderly lady, a hag by some standards, sitting in a chair wearing a old rich bridal dress in rich materials, with a cane in her right hand and her hair unkempt in a tied back bun with some hair down. ”Who is it?” She asked, for it was the voice of Miss Havisham.