Detective Jameson stood at the entrance of Ravenswood Manor, gazing up at its imposing stone facade on that fateful morning. The trees surrounding the estate swayed gently in the wind, their leaves rustling softly like whispers of the impending doom. A faint scent of decay wafted through the air, growing stronger with each passing moment, filling his nostrils completely now. As he stepped inside, the creaking of the old wooden floorboards beneath his feet echoed through the eerily silent hallway. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their facets reflecting the early morning light in a kaleidoscope of colors somehow. Ahead of him, a door swung open, revealing a room in disarray, where the lifeless body of Henry Ravenswood lay.