In the grand, festively adorned parlor of the Price Mansion, amid the opulent decorations and the air filled with the scent of pine and spiced apple, Gwendolyn Price was a whirlwind of activity. The wealthy heiress, known for her lavish Christmas gatherings, was determined to make this year’s celebration unforgettable. As she meticulously placed another ornament on the towering Christmas tree, her butler, Wilson, stood by the window, his attention caught by an unusual sight outside.
“The parlor won’t be ready if you don’t put your back into it,” Gwendolyn chided, barely looking up from her task. She was oblivious to the distraction that had stolen Wilson’s focus.
Wilson, usually the picture of composure, seemed unnerved. “Apologies, Madame, but a body appears to have fallen out of the sky,” he said, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and disbelief.
Gwendolyn’s hands paused in their work, and she turned sharply to Wilson. “Get the porters on it. If this person is alive, bring them in. I want to know who is crashing my party,” she commanded, her tone indicating that this was no mere figure of speech.
With a nod, Wilson hurried off to organize the porters. Within moments, they carried in a woman, wrapped in blankets, with a few maids trailing behind them, whispering among themselves about the uncanny resemblance between the unconscious guest and their mistress.
Wilson
