Night.
Theodore Mansion.
Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.
****************
"Theodore, where are you?" Lydia whispered to herself a question.
The night had draped its velvet cloak over the sprawling grounds of the dark Theodore mansion. It is shrouding everything in an eerie stillness, emotions excluded.
Lydia stood on the front steps bathed in the silvery glow of the moon. She is dressed in her nightgown, her figure a solitary silhouette by the moon against the grand mansion.
Everyone had left for their rooms before she had slipped out of hers to come to wait for Theodore out of worry from the sudden gloominess she felt earlier.
Her husband, the lord of Critic Arley, had yet to return home, and the late hour only added to her growing sense of unease.
