It's dark, but it isn't past midnight. Only nine o'clock or so, or eight. The manor, dark wood and oil paintings and old world opulence, is completely silent aside from some music playing in the kitchen. Most of the massive building isn't lit, as it has four wings and two levels. Its sole purpose is to house one occupant, to keep her a secret and away from everyone else. The walls are painted a delicate blue in the lower level, and white in the upper. It's an old manor, the dwelling of some Duke in the past, or perhaps a Lord. Once it was some man's pride and joy, but now it's a remnant of a time past; a frozen smile on a painted face.

In Fortescue's dreams, the place is even larger. A wooden prison, with windows that won't open or be broken. Jazz follows her as she pads about the house, trying to kick at the glass. She wouldn't dare do this with the real house. Naturally, she doesn't get anywhere with the dream version, either: the glass is as hard as steel. Her subconscious is nothing if not a buzz kill.

She pauses in the main parlor, listening to the music. It's some classical piece. Something she'd heard on the radio in the past, maybe. If there's a meaning, Fortescue doesn't care to analyze it. She gets herself a bottle of wine and a glass from the pantry. Evidently, it's going to be a long and tiring night.