"Welcome, darling!" a cheery voice called out as the Mansons entered the mansion, "Welcome to your new home!"
Sam let out a cry of surprise as a tall, slender woman rushed up and embraced her in a tight bear hug. After a moment of being unable to breathe, the woman stepped back, allowing Sam to get her first look at her soon to be mother-in-law. Penelope Masters was certainly an attractive woman with her shoulder-length cherry red hair and her bright chartreuse colored eyes. Her dress was the same color as her hair, but her necklace and earrings were decorated with diamonds. As she stood in front of the Mansons, Mrs. Masters took an authorative stance standing tall with her head held high. There was no question who was in charge of this house, nor would any question even be tolerated.
"I'm sure you'll love it here just as much as Dashiel and I do," she spoke again, taking Sam's hand into her own.
Sam did not fail to notice that Mrs. Masters' eyes did not match her cheery tone. The fact that her almost mother-in-law already despised her before the wedding even started did nothing to improve her mood.
"It certainly is a lovely home," Pamela replied, answering for Sam as if she weren't there, "Samantha will certainly love living here."
"I'm right here, Mother," Sam growled, taking her hand out of Mrs. Masters' grip,"I can speak for myself."
"Samantha!" her mother hissed before turning back to Mrs. Masters with a polite chuckle, "You must excuse her. She's just a bit nervous about the wedding."
"And so would any other girl," Ida remarked as Jeremy pushed her wheelchair inside, "If they were being forced to marry an idiot."
"Go back in the hole you crawled out of, you disgusting worm!"
"Mother! Pamela!"
"Well, darling," Mrs. Masters said to Sam, "I don't blame you at all for being nervous."
"See!" Ida shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her, "She admits her son is an idiot!"
"Go feed off of someone else's misery, you wretched vulture!"
"Mother! Pamela!"
"I was nervous myself before my wedding," Mrs. Masters continued, ignoring the two bickering women, "My poor husband, rest his soul, thought that I had gotten cold feet when I didn't show up for the first few minutes."
"You didn't show up?" Sam asked, "Well, you obviously went through with it. What changed your mind?"
"Oh, nothing, Samantha, dear. My dressmaker was running late and my dress needed a few last minute adjustments. Now, enough about me." She walked over to a wooden spiral staircase tucked into the corner of the hallway. "Let me go get my son. Dash! Dashiel! Get down here!"
"Why?" a voice answered from the next floor, "I'm busy!"
"You are not! Get down here and welcome the Mansons!"
"I already told you! I'm busy!"
"Is this anyway to greet your new bride?! Get down here immediatly!"
Letting out a frustrated groan, a blonde-haired man in a blue waistcoat stomped down the staircase with a surly look on his face. He crossed his arms and let out another groan as his blue eyes glared at Sam's violet ones. Crossing her own arms, Sam returned Dashiel's look.
"Well, would you look at that!" Pamela crooned, "If that's not true love, I don't know what is!"
"No," Ida answered, "You truly don't."
"Wheel yourself into oncoming traffic, you vile mole!"
"Mother! Pamela!"
"I hate you," Dashiel said, furrowing his brow even further.
"Same here," Sam answered in return.
"Mother, do I really have to go through this? I mean, look at her!" he pointed to Sam in disgust, "I mean, I'd be more willing if she were actually pretty!"
"Hey!"
"You know, Samantha," Pamela answered, "He does have a point. You would look much better if didn't insist on wearing such dark and drab clothing! You're having a wedding, dear, not a funeral."
"She might not be dying," Ida said, "But her future certainly is."
"The only funeral will be having is yours, you rotten sack of meat!"
"Mother! Pamela!"
"Dashiel, darling," Mrs. Masters hissed as she plastered on a fake smile, "We've talked about this. Samantha is a very lovely young lady whom you are going to marry and you're going to love her and cherish her for the rest of your lives whether you like it or not!"
"Wait," he looked at his mother in confusion, "What does cherish mean? Is it something like cherries?"
"Mother," Sam groaned, "You cannot be serious! You really expect me to marry someone who's IQ is as high as a rock's?"
Before Pamela could scold her daughter, Mrs. Masters stepped between the two.
"Why don't we all get settled into your rooms? All of this wedding preparations is certainly tiring on one's nerves. Let me call the maid to escort you. Star! Star!"
Immediatly, a blonde young woman entered the hallway and waited for her orders.
"Take the Samantha up to her room, if you please. Don't worry about the luggage. I'll have Bertrand attend to that. Now, Mr. Manson, I've arranged a room for you, your mother, and your wife down here. If you'll all follow me."
As the older woman led Sam's parents to their room, Star started up the staircase indicating to Sam that she ought to follow. As the two walked down the upstairs hallway, Sam admired the house's beautiful interior. The floors were all covered in emerald green carpets outlined in a golden border. Several small, golden chandeliers were all lined up on the ceiling, making sure that not a single bit of space was dark. And even if there was a spot of darkness, the windows of the mansion ensured that it would be lit again. Each window started down at the floor and reached up until they almost touched the ceiling. The drapes matched the color of the carpet with a gold fringe hanging on each sash that held them back, allowing the sun inside.
The stone walls were adorned with portraits of various people looking rather sullen at Sam, as if her presence was unwanted. That was just fine with her as she didn't want her presence here, either.
The two women finally reached their destination: a black wooden door. Star reached for the door's golden handle and turned, but to no prevail.
"Oh, shoot," she muttered, trying again in vain, "I forgot the key. Wait here a moment, Ms. Manson. I'll be right back."
Sam watched the maid leave before turning around to another portrait on the wall. Unlike the others, the young man in this painting didn't frown back at her. Instead, he smirked with a gleam in his icy blue eyes, as if he were amused by this new guest before him. He wore a black waistcoat with his long raven hair pulled back into a ponytail and a matching goatee. Sam had to admit to herself, this man looked rather handsome. Much more than Dashiel. She noticed a brass plaque underneath the portrait and and bent down to read the name displayed.
"Daniel Masters."
"Did you say something, Ms. Manson?"
Sam stood back up and turned around in surprise. There stood Star with the room key in her hand.
"Um, no," she answered, moving aside to let the maid pass, "Just talking to myself."
"About the wedding? Oh, you're so lucky! I wish I could marry a man as wonderful as Mr. Baxter!"
"Take him. He's all yours."
"Oh!" Star giggled, pushing the door open, "You're so funny!"
Sam grumbled under her breath as she walked inside. The room looked quite nice. The first thing she noticed was a brass bed with dark blue covers right up against the wall. A blue pull rope connecting to the servants' bell slithered down to the left of the bed and an ebony night stand stood to its right as the other wooden and brass furniture lined up against the adjacent walls. Speaking of the walls, Sam saw that they had been painted a dark blue and held a few pictures. Fortunately, the paintings were of night sky. The moon and star constellations all seemed to glimmer at her from their frames. At least Sam didn't have to sleep with a whole bunch of sour-looking people staring down at her. She walked across the wooden floors to the bed, her boots making very few sounds as it touched the dark blue rug underneath her.
"Bertrand should be here soon with your luggage," Star said, "But you'll probably be over at the church doing your rehersal when he does. Just ring the bell if you need anything else."
With that, Star closed the door, leaving Sam a few moments of peace at last. She stood there beside the bed and looked around for an escape. She noticed a window next to an ebony-colored vanity, but unfortunately, it was too small to fit a person. She sighed and walked up towards the window anways. Perhaps appearances were deceiving? Suddenly, she felt her foot sink slightly into the floor as a small creak sounded. Puzzled, Sam removed her foot and stared at the spot. She put it down again, feeling the dent and hearing the creak. She kneeled down onto the floor and pulled back the rug and stared at the bare floorboards. This time, she pushed down at the spot using her hand and once more felt the loose board sink down with another creak. Sam slipped her fingers into the crack of the floorboard and pulled it back. With very little force, she was able to lift it up from its place, revealing a dark hiding spot with a worn leather book inside. She pulled the book up and dusted the grimy cover before turning to the first page.
Daniel Fenton.
The same name as the man in the portrait. She quickly turned the page and read its first entry.
April 3, 1888.
Heaven knows what possessed my sister to give me a journal for my birthday as I have never indicated that I would ever want one. But, give me one she did and now she is continously pestering me to write into it. I'll probably end up humoring her for a couple of weeks before abonding the thing altogether. It's certainly a much better present than the sack of potatoes Dashiel gave to me. Then again, he probably trying to indicate to me that he was comparing his intelligence to that of the potatoes. Too bad the potatoes are smarter.
Sam let out an amused snort before reading the next entry.
April 12, 1888.
Again, my sister nags at me to write in this damn book! Father always takes her side, so going to him would be incredibly pointless. Not that Father spends much time around here at the mansion, anyway. His work forces him away from home, leaving our poor household in the hands of that witch, Penelope. To think that in a few short months, I will be having the absolute horror of calling her my stepmother!
Sam stopped and stared at the page. Stepmother? Mrs. Masters didn't mention anything about having a stepson. She thought Dashiel was the only son she had. Where was Daniel? And where was his sister?
What Father sees in that woman is beyond my comprehension. Even my sister destests her, and she's always seeing nothing but goodness in every person she meets! To see pure evil in that woman is certainly a bad omen.
Dear me, Dashiel has gone and gotten himself locked in the pantry again, the idiot. This is the fourth time this week!
"Samantha!" her mother's voice startled Sam up to her feet, "Come on downstairs! The carriage is about to leave for the church!"
"I told you!" she shouted back, "I'm not marrying him!"
"Oh, please, Samantha, you're being ridiculous! Marriage isn't so bad! Just look at your father and I!"
"Run, Sam!" Ida called out, "Run like Hell and never look back!"
"Throw yourself down a well, you horrid rat!"
"Mother! Pamela!"
