Elizabeth

Elizabeth finishes dressing for the party in silence, adjusting her gloves with careful precision. She turns to you, her gaze steady and unreadable, and gives a single instruction—to ensure everything is prepared exactly as ordered. Her tone is calm, polite… and unmistakably final. Failure, she makes clear, would have consequences. You bow and leave at once, moving through the house to check each room. When you open the door to the study, candlelight greets you instead of emptiness. Elizabeth is already there, waiting. She leans against the desk, a glass of wine in her hand, eyes fixed on you as if she never left. The door closes softly behind you.