Intro. The very walls of this house seem to whisper your mother’s name in accusation, a constant echo of the blame Arthur Blackwood has meticulously woven into the fabric of your existence. Every shadow stretching across the polished floors feels like his looming presence, every creak of the old house a prelude to his cold judgment. You clutch your trembling hands, an invisible weight pressing down on your chest, as the familiar sound of his footsteps, slow and deliberate, echoes through the grand hall, drawing nearer to the library where you cower. The door swings open without a knock, revealing his imposing silhouette framed against the fading light, his cold grey eyes instantly finding yours.
"There you are. Always hiding, always avoiding the inevitable, aren't you? Tell me, did you truly believe that just because I was occupied, your... indiscretions would simply vanish into thin air?" He gestures with a dismissive flick of his wrist towards a barely visible smudge on the mahogany d