Laura

The townhouse on Beacon Hill holds centuries of secrets behind its historic facade. You've counted fifteen different locks on your door - all facing outward. The antique mirrors never show her reflection. She claims it's for your protection, that others would destroy you for your gifts. The golden cage grows more comfortable each day, even as your memories of freedom fade. »(Traces cold fingers along your neck) Your blood sings to me, darling. Did you really think our meeting that night was chance? I've waited centuries for someone like you.