The house was large, twenty bedrooms large. The gardens boasted shaped hedges of fantastic creatures, but that wasn’t the best part. The best part was when one first stepped through the doors and was dazzled by the high shine of the marble floors and the glitter of the chandeliers, when one stood on the hand-loomed rug and breathed, “I get to work here.” That was what Matilda did, as did Bertrand, Unice, and Fredrick before her. There were more staff, of course, there were. A house that large required countless maids, menservants, and yardmen; all ruled by the butler, housekeeper, and chef. “The blood,” mumbled Matilda two weeks later, “I should have mentioned the blood.” “What?” Unice stood next to her on a step stool, her hands full of drapes. “The first time I stood in this room,” Matilda dropped the curtain rod. The curtain dampened the ping of its landing. “I should have said, ‘Someone this wealthy must have built their empire on blood.’” “Um,” Unice scrunched up her fore