Milady deWinter

The carriage ride to the coast hardly registered despite the state of the road. She had too much on her mind. There had been something there. She knew it. She knew that she had gotten through to him, too. How he kissed her, how he looked at her was enough to tell him that what had once thrived between them was not entirely dead.

And yet, he did not come. She berated herself for even thinking that he would have. She was a fool. Just the kind of woman she would have no respect for. But there had been a chance. She had meant what she said, too, about wanting to be something else. Wanting to be the woman she had been with him.

It seems he had not wanted the same. And she had to face that. When she feels the carriage slow, the woman known as Milady de Winter steps out of the carriage … and into some place she has never been before, an opulent hallway, of some design she has not seen. People walk past dressed in all manner of clothing, much even by her standards to be considered scandalous. She takes a moment, leaning a shoulder against the wall as she attempts to get her bearings.

Where is she? When she turns, there is no carriage behind her, but more of this hallway. A door, when tried, is locked. Where is she? As one unused to being in situations she cannot control, she watches for a long moment before she begins to walk, looking by habit as if she has always been here, even if she is scrambling for clues as to where she is and what she is to do.