I haven't spoken to Cyril since the morning. The man paced back and forth, tasks assembled above his head completing preparations for the dinner he was hosting that evening. He had many reasons to rejoice: a new factory was being added to his collection. Freemen Manor has been cleaned and polished to perfection. Servants rushed into the kitchen, carrying elaborate dishes of roast beef, game, and almost every seafood in Maine. They were complemented by bowls of soup, sugared almonds, cheese pastries and pudding followed by bottles of various champagnes and wines. The chandeliers glowed with scented candles and a roaring fire in every room poured out an endless amount of light. Beautiful additions of ivy and bat orchids filled the hallways. It was a scene worthy of President Jackson himself. I gave Grace her dinner shortly after and put her to bed before preparing for the event. She still coughs from time to time, but it doesn't seem that bad. I had a servant administer an elixir to me just to be sure. Then, I got dressed in the outfit that Cyril had chosen for me. Within moments, with the help of my lady-in-waiting, I was adorned in a luxurious floor-length evening gown of rich scarlet silk with a pair of matching brocade boots. My raven black hair was parted in the center and styled with elaborate curls at the front and braids gathered at the crown. Cyril had decided to splurge on an expensive jewelry set. In no time, my wrists, neck and ears were adorned with diamonds and rubies, while a sparkling tiara completed my look. The dinner itself wasn't particularly special. It was the usual dinner and superficial small talk that no one would remember when they got home. When we moved into the ballroom, I found myself in the middle of a paper...and my teeth hurt from the clicking. My eyelids grew tired and lethargy soon overcame me. I rushed through the mansion to the back entrance and into the narrow space, careful not to attract anyone's attention. I went into Cyril's room and into my room and put on my nightgown. I looked out my slightly ajar cloverleaf window. A sparrow pecked on the other side of the leaded glass before flying into my room and landing on the piano. I shooed him away before anything caught my eye. I turned around to see a painting of a young woman, right in front of the bed. I've never seen it before. Cyril had to bring it today with the rest of the decor. She had beautiful dark hair, intense eyes, and overall pretty features. But she looked… sullen. The woman seemed almost dissatisfied with simply being part of a painting. That's the last thing I saw before I fell asleep.