𝕿𝕳𝕰 𝕻𝕺𝕴𝕾𝕺𝕹𝕰𝕯 𝕮𝕳𝕬𝕷𝕴𝕮𝕰

In the remote countryside, surrounded by miles of untamed forest, stood the grandiose Ashwood Manor. The mansion, with its ivy-clad walls and towering spires, had been home to the Ashwood family for generations. Now, only three members remained: the reclusive Lady Evelyn, her sharp-witted brother Lord Charles, and their charming yet enigmatic cousin, Victor.
One cold, moonless night, a storm raged outside as the three gathered in the mansion’s dimly lit drawing room. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long, flickering shadows across the room. The mood was tense, for earlier that day, Lady Evelyn had announced her decision to sell the estate, a move fiercely opposed by both Charles and Victor.
As the clock struck midnight, the butler, Mr. Collins, entered the room to refill their drinks. Beside him was the maid, Clara, a quiet girl who rarely spoke unless spoken to. As she handed Lady Evelyn a glass of wine, the storm outside seemed to grow fiercer, shaking the windows with its fury.
Suddenly, the lights flickered and went out. The room was plunged into darkness, and for a moment, all that could be heard was the howling wind and the crackling of the fire. Then, a loud crash echoed through the room, followed by a low, choking sound.
When the lights finally flickered back on, Victor was slumped in his chair, his face contorted in pain. A thin stream of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and in his hand, he clutched Lady Evelyn’s wine glass, now shattered. Victor’s eyes were wide with terror, staring into nothingness—he was dead.
Panic gripped the room. Lord Charles leapt to his feet, his eyes darting from the lifeless body of his cousin to the others in the room. Lady Evelyn gasped, her face draining of color. The butler and the maid stood frozen, their expressions unreadable.
“He’s been poisoned!” Lord Charles exclaimed, backing away from the table.
Lady Evelyn’s hand shook as she stared at the broken glass. “But how? We were all here… No one left the room.”
Mr. Collins, ever the calm presence, stepped forward. “The wine was poured from the same bottle. It must have been in the glass itself. But how could that be, when Miss Clara only just handed it to him?”
Clara’s face was pale, her eyes wide with fear. “I swear, I didn’t do anything! I just served the drinks as I always do.”
A heavy silence fell over the room as everyone looked at one another with suspicion. Had the poison been intended for Victor, or was he merely an unfortunate victim? The storm outside seemed to rage harder, as if the elements themselves were angry at the dark deed done within the manor’s walls.
Lord Charles, his voice low and steady, broke the silence. “There are only five of us here. One of us knows the truth.”
The butler glanced at the shattered glass in Victor’s hand, then at each person in the room. “But if no one had the chance to tamper with the glass… then who did?”