The Graveyard

Upon receiving an umbrella from one of the attentive maids who still remained awake, Rosalie finally stepped out into the night. Almost immediately, a refreshing gust of cold air enveloped her, causing her long wavy hair to dance like a cascade of silken serpents.

With her much-needed stroll resumed, she embarked upon her journey, treading along the damp yet immaculately clean path paved with square beige stones and entrusting her meandering to the path's somewhat desolate guidance. Despite the lateness of the hour, the expanse surrounding the duke's stately mansion remained bathed in deemed illumination. The warm, enchantment-sustained radiance within the spherical lamps persevered, albeit diminishing beneath the weight of the October rain's downpour.