IMOGEN'S POV
The evening had settled in, the sky outside painted in deep shades of indigo, with the last traces of daylight fading into the horizon. I was sitting in the living room, staring blankly at the walls, when Maggie's voice broke the silence.
"Mistress, the food is ready," she said gently, standing in the doorway, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
I nodded, forcing a small smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "Thank you, Maggie," I replied, pushing myself up from the chair and making my way to the dining room.
The room was quiet—awfully quiet. The kind of silence that presses in on you, making you all too aware that you're alone. I sat down at the long, polished table, my reflection staring back at me from the gleaming surface. Before me was a spread of food, artfully arranged on fine china. The kind of food that looked more like a display of art than something meant to be eaten.
