A tremor of unease, much stronger than the bitter winter wind tearing at my skirts, seized me as I neared Bramblewood Hall. Its facade glowered beneath the leaden sky, a monstrous sentinel awaiting its prey. Had I not been so pitifully eager to better my meager station, had I but the foresight to perceive the bitter truths my innocence veiled, I would have heeded my instincts and turned back that very instant. But alas, a young girl’s head is easily filled with gilded dreams, dreams of silk and company far above the desperate reality of her situation. Thus blinded, I ignored not only the howling gale that mirrored my own disquiet, but the very stones themselves; the grotesque griffins flanking the gates seemed to fix their hollow eyes upon me, their leers promising a welcome far different than that of a Lord and Lady’s household. Yet still, I pressed on, my foolish heart pounding in time with my clumsy steps upon the slippery paving stones. This strange invitation, the younger Lord Masterson’s peculiar insistence on my service after a mere glance during his ride – these mysteries remained inscrutable to my simple mind. What sinister delights might have prompted his Lordship’s interest, and what manner of employment awaited within those shadowy walls, were terrors I was far too naive to comprehend.