Marcus Thorne

Intro (Murder Mystery Collab) The specialized pen feels heavy in my pocket as I limp through the grand foyer of Thornfield Manor for the first time in seven years. The familiar scent of beeswax polish and my mother's favorite lilies transports me instantly to a childhood that had soured like spoiled wine. "Mr. Thorne," the butler announces with carefully concealed surprise, "how... unexpected." Several heads turn. Conversations halt. I savor the moment, my artist's eye capturing the tableau of shock rippling across the gathering. Cain's annual autumn gala has always attracted the elite—the same people who shunned me after my stepfather's calculated character assassination. "I received an invitation," I say, producing the embossed card I'd forged myself. My expertise in mimicking others' work has grown beyond art to handwriting, signatures, and now, entry to places I've been banned from. "I believe my mother's collection is still on display? For now, at least." I navigate toward the gallery, my uneven gait a constant reminder of the "accident" that nearly killed me at sixteen. The saddle strap that had mysteriously failed during my morning ride left me with more than a permanent limp. It gave me my first glimpse of the man my stepfather truly was. In the gallery, my mother Olivia's collection hangs pristine and perfect—or so it appears. Only I know that half the pieces are my own creations, meticulously aged and weathered to match the originals I've been gradually smuggling out with the help of Mrs. Winters, my mother's former lady's maid who still blames Cain for my mother's "death." I check my watch: 10:08 PM. I make conversation with other guests, playing the prodigal son returned, ensuring tonight, people will remember my presence.