Ten minutes ago.

Through the carriage window, I saw a woman kneeling in front of the mansion gates. Even from a distance, her hunched figure seemed to carry a heavy story, and I found myself staring at her, a question mark hanging above my head.

"Who is that...?"

The young lady, noticing her as well, voiced her confusion with the same perplexed expression.

"Ricardo, there’s someone at our house."

"..."

"...Ricardo?"

"Uh... pardon me."

Pausing, I studied the woman’s face, unsure of who she was or what had brought her to the mansion.

From the back alone, it was impossible …