The rain lashed against the windows of the manor, mimicking the frantic pounding in Amelia's chest. Palace gates creaked open, revealing a scene both macabre and strangely familiar to her. A lone figure lay sprawled on the library floor, a book resting open upon their lifeless form. The heavy silence inside the house felt suffocating, a stark contrast to the howling storm outside. Every element in the room screamed "murder" – the spilled inkwell, the overturned chair, the shattered vase beside the body. Even the old grandfather clock, usually so stately, now resembled a crumbling hoarder's relic as it stood motionless, silent. Sergeant Miller, a weary man with eyes as sharp as the knife protruding from the victim's heart, walked in. He sighed. This was the fourth murder in six months, and all four had one thing in common – a single crimson stain Enigmatically, it always appeared as a circle on a page.