Remington Grange

The Remington family’s decaying ancestral estate looms in memory like a gilded cage, its manicured grounds and honeyed stone façade masking the slow rot of betrayal. Remington’s recollections sketch it as a place of privilege where power moved in hushed corridors and family honor curdled into poison florets beneath the silver. The limousine’s dark windows frame its overgrown driveways and boarded windows as Lady Peinforte peels back its layers, revealing a land where a cook’s silent collapse into kitchen tiles went unmourned—a private kingdom quietly silencing those who served too well.