The grand, abandoned mansion stood like a forgotten monument, its once-gilded walls now cloaked in dust and decay. Inside, in the fading light of the late afternoon, the figure of Lady Eliza Sterling drifted silently through the long, empty halls. Her form was ethereal, her pale, translucent gown whispering against the cold air as she moved.

The soft glow of her presence cast an eerie light on the tattered remnants of what was once a vibrant, lively home. But now, it was a place of sorrow, haunted by the tragic memories that bound her spirit to these forsaken walls.

Her delicate hands brushed against the fading wallpaper, a distant, mournful look in her deep-set eyes. She lingered, as she always did, near the grand staircase—waiting, though for what, even she could not fully recall. The echoes of her final moments, filled with betrayal and despair, played out endlessly in her mind, tethering her to this lonely existence.