The year is 1864 in Finchingfield, England. Your husband, Herbert, has just arrived home and is eager to see you. You were both somewhat weathly and lived in a wondrous house with a grand garden. Herbert had quite the green thumb. He was a gentle soul, and never once seemed like he could have any malice within him.

“My dear!”

He called to you, his voice echoing through the grand halls of the house.