[right][sub][color=gray]Lena interacting with Mary Holly [@AtomicNut], Lord Northam [@Themerlinhawk] & Mrs. Northam [@TootsiePop][/color][/sub][/right]
[center][h2][color=A6ADD1]Miss Lena van der Meer[/color][/h2]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/MjdFMXP.gif[/img][/center]
[hr][hr]
[indent][color=gray]Miss Lena awoke with the sun, as was usual for her. Though, to say that she woke was to say that she was sleeping in the first place, which was hardly true. Lena hadn’t slept a solid night since arriving at the manor decades ago. The spirits are far more active at night and they have always sensed her presence. Whilst Lena is on the cusp of consciousness, a weakened state, they poke and prod at her. Tugging at her hair, pulling the blankets down, sometimes the more benevolent ones tuck her in or even lay beside her. But when dawn arrives, Lena recalls nothing. The lack of sleep and eternal tiredness have become her new normal.

Having already gone about her morning routine, Miss Lena has washed, dressed, and properly made up for the day. Her long ebony locks were pulled up into a smooth bun and her fingers had just finished the task of braiding a final section to wrap around the band holding the rest of her hair up. She used a hairpin to tuck the braid securely in place and took a few moments to examine her reflection in the mirror.

Leaning towards the looking glass, judging the way her face powder was clinging to the fine lines and wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, Lena sighed. She had never been a vain woman before now. It wasn’t how she was raised and it wasn’t who she wanted to be, but… these days? She couldn’t help it. Every morning that she looked in the mirror, she could swear that she was starting to look more and more like [i]them[/i]. Soon enough she herself would be a grey phantasm gliding up and down these halls, endlessly trapped in peculiar labyrinth that was Manor North.

There was no use dwelling on the inevitable though, not when there was work to be done. The hungry mouths of the manor would not feed themselves. Heaven forbid they feel the weight of picking up a ladle, let alone a pot or a pan. Miss Lena stood up from her simple vanity and put on a fresh apron before heading towards the kitchen. She entered it to find Mary Holly giving Lord Northam some concoction she’d brewed up. The shrew-like woman glared at Mary with a pinched gaze.

[color=A6ADD1][b]“What have I told you about using my best saucepans for your witchery?”[/b][/color] The elder staff member scolded as she snuffed out the stove’s flames and used a cloth to lift the pot and bring it towards the wash basin. [color=A6ADD1][b]“You might know how to wash the dishes, but you can’t scrub away the evil, child.”[/b][/color] Lena coldly poured the herbal “witches brew” as she saw it down the drain and left the pan to be cleaned before muttering under her breath. [i][sub][color=A6ADD1][b]“The last thing this house needs is more evil…”[/b][/color][/sub][/i]

[color=A6ADD1][b]“Well, I do hope you left some of the herbs in the garden for there proper intended uses.”[/b][/color] Lena remarked at her usual volume, more calm now. She grabbed a cloak and a basket to head outside and gather herbs for tonight’s dinner. On her way out, she bowed her head slightly towards the master of the house, [color=A6ADD1][b]“We’ll be having stew for supper tonight, Lord Alexander.”[/b][/color] It was about as many words as any of the staff members could muster up when speaking to the newly returned heir. For the most part, they were a silent working bunch. There was plenty else to be doing rather than slacking off and sharing unnecessary niceties. 

Lena wrapped the cloak more tightly around her shoulders before stepping outside and bracing against the morning chill. There was always a chill in the air on the estate grounds, but it was most noticeable at dawn and dusk. The old woman gripped her gathering basket and headed towards the herb garden. On her journey through the gardens, the sight of a pale phantom caught her eye. Lena turned to see a woman clad in a black night robe exiting the hedge maze.

That was no spirit, it was Mrs. Northam. Briefly forgetting her task, Lena watched the other woman curiously as she appeared to head towards the family crypt in a trance. [i][color=A6ADD1][b]“God have mercy…”[/b][/color][/i] Miss Lena remarked softly and shook her head before following her conscience after Josephine.

There was not much that could have prepared Lena for the sight she was to behold within the crypt. The widowed Mrs. Northam sat humming an eerie tune, clutching a rose as blood dripped from her palm down onto to the resting place of her late husband. Speak of the devil, a tall shadowy figure stood above the mourning woman. The spirit reeked of menace and ill intent and it wore a distorted version of Mortimer Northam’s face. Lena’s gut told her that he — or it — was to blame for the widow’s state. [i][color=A6ADD1]Haven’t you caused her enough pain, you whoring devil? Leave![/color][/i] Lena thought scathingly.

Whether it be Lena’s mental scolding, the morning rays of light creeping into the crypts entrance, or simply the surprise of being spotted, Mortimer’s spirit faded away. Miss Lena dropped her basket then and rushed to Mrs. Northam’s side. [color=A6ADD1][b]“Goodness, dear Lady Josephine, what are you doing out here? Bleeding out and wearing naught but your sleeping robe, you’re gonna catch your death! Come now, let me see your hand.”[/b][/color] She said kindly as she knelt down with a linen cloth from her basket ready to clean off the wound.[/color][/indent]