Recap.
"Good morning, Miss Erica," she greeted calmly. I lowered my eyes in humility, returning her greeting with composed silence, letting her see nothing of the turmoil inside me.
The house was a picture of mournful preparation. The maids were dressed in black, their uniforms crisp, movements deliberate.
Doors and windows were open, curtains drawn to the sides, letting the sunlight stream in, soft yet blinding, reflecting off polished floors and brightening the somber atmosphere with cruel irony.
"Madam Erica," Gilet said, stepping closer. "What other changes should we add to the scene? Mr. Stridha asked us to prepare it for the funeral."
I scanned the room carefully, taking in the details—the alignment of the chairs, the draping of the black fabrics, the solemnity etched into every corner. Everything was perfect, exactly as Benjamin would want.
