Rain lashed against the leaded panes, obscuring the moon’s pale, watchful gaze. Inside the study, a single brandy snifter lay shattered on the Persian rug. Lord Ashworth’s slumped form cast an unsettling shadow across antique leather, quite still. A faint smell of almonds, too sweet and cloying, lingered eerily in the air. His spectacles had fallen askew, catching a glint from the flickering gaslight. The rare first edition of Poe had slipped from lifeless fingers, now lying open. A heavy velvet curtain, slightly disturbed, suggested a hasty departure, perhaps. No one else was supposed to be present in the grand, silent manor. The grandfather clock in the hall mercifully chimed, breaking the oppressive stillness. Its deep, resonant tone echoed through the dimly lit, now desolate corridors.