While retiring to the study, she almost felt like her dad. He used to love this cosy little room. It was probably where he wrote his will. Perhaps where he planned his own demise as well. One finger faintly slid on the desk as Grace walked around it. The surface of the furniture had yet to gather dust, reminding her that her father's death was still fairly recent. "You old fool…" Among the antique furniture, Grace stood out more, as if she didn't belong in there. Clearly, Marcus had thought the same. Pulling the chair out, she sat at the desk. It was weird to think that this might be the last time a Widcombe was sitting there. There was an odd-looking key on the desk. It wasn't there before. Something else to scold Rikkie for, she supposed, as it meant people freely roamed the mansion as if it was a museum.<br/><br/>At the desk, an odd sense of heaviness accompanied Grace. Squinted eyes inspected the key as she picked it up. It surely was a peculiar object, but it was the sight of her fingers what utterly confused her. They looked thicker. Her hands were no longer gentle, but rough. Dropping the key, she looked at her palms. Her skin looked wrinkled. Her body was of a man's. And not a young one's at that. "What? What?" Her eyes followed the sleeves of her jacket to her now flat chest. Under the table, her legs were no longer bare. When she put her hands on her thighs, it was the sleek fabric of a pair of trousers what she felt. While trying to make sense of the situation, a blonde barged into the room. Quite hastily, without knocking. She had a rather familiar face. The same one she saw whenever she looked in a mirror, in fact. Only, a couple of years younger. "Wait… There's something wrong." She lifted her head.<br/><br/>"That's all you have to say?!" As the woman marched towards the desk, she almost felt her fierce glare piercing her skull. "There are many things that are wrong!" The woman exclaimed. The air of furiousness filled the place rather swiftly, disturbing the calmness of the room. "You couldn't resist, could you?!" The twenty-nine-year-old blonde kept shouting. "You old fool!"<br/><br/>"You're not listening! Stop! There's something…" Grace held the edge of the desk, her hands shaking.<br/><br/>"You have nothing I want to hear. Now listen to me instead…" An arm swept across the desk as the woman knocked over some of the objects sitting on the desk.<br/><br/>"Oh, you arrogant little bitch! Stop shouting for a second!" The room suddenly got dark. It was a different room. She was lying on her bed, thankfully as herself. Following her father's death, she had many nightmares. A deep gasp pushed her chest out when she abruptly woke up, visibly shaken and in distress. Apparently, it had been a day Audrey did some overtime as she was lying beside her as well.<br/><br/>"Are you alright? Bad dream?" Her assistant didn't wear much. Nor did she.<br/><br/>"You were here?" Grace asked, her breathing still shallow.<br/><br/>"Oh, you don't remember?" Audrey soon lay her bare form over hers. "Do you remember now?" From her forehead to her cheek, she slid her hand down her partner's face. "Well, I can remember a couple of things." Audrey added with a smile. As she kept brushing Grace's cheek, something began to clump up on her fingers. Her smile faded, and panic ensued. Her fingers dug deeper into her skin. "Grace! Y-your face!"<br/><br/>"My? Huh?" Grace's hands raced over her face as she scratched at her cheeks. Every time she did, more of her skin was peeled off. "Ha!" She began to claw at her face. Her flesh came off in soggy chunks, disintegrating like melted wax. "No… No!" Grace felt the bones underneath, her very face unmasked. Vessels were raptured in a red mess, muscles decomposing and tendons tearing apart. "A-AH!" Her lower eyelids drooped, revealing more of her eyes.<br/><br/>"I'll get help!" Audrey shrieked, but had trouble looking down at the disturbing sight below. "Miss Widcombe!" She grabbed Grace by the wrists, pulling the woman's blood covered fingers off her face, melted flesh stuck to them stretching out. "Miss Widcombe…"<br/><br/>As the young redhead called her name, it was a blank stare what would welcome the girl in the study. After returning to the real world, it took Grace a while to pull herself together. Like the faint memory of a dream, the tormenting experience began to abandon her mind. As she stood in front of the desk, she looked quite pale. Her tightly clenched fingers relaxed around the key she held. Sharply, she tossed it to the floor. Only then she could respond to the maid. "Y-yes, I have."<br/><br/>She was feeling quite dizzy. And it showed. Still, the woman didn't allow that to hinder her little investigation. A slowly taken step brought the woman closer to Rikkie. And the following steps even closer. "Who are you, Rikkie?" Grace asked, her voice a bit deeper. "I don't remember our kindly housekeepers having a daughter." Regarding whom Rikkie used to be, or rather how she used to look, she had an idea as well. "You seemed terribly anxious when I held your skirt." She recalled. "What are you hiding underneath, girl?"<br/><br/>***<br/><br/>To tell the truth, until he himself admitted it, Audrey hadn't thought that Karl was mistreating her. Thus, the man's apology was a bit unexpected. "What truce, Karl?" She asked. The fact that she used his first name hinted that she currently wasn't playing the dutiful assistant, but just being herself. "Didn't know we were at war." The mention of Abby made her look towards the parlour. She wasn't quite eager to return there. "No…" Letting out a sigh, Audrey continued. "My arse is fine, for now. I believe it's best to leave them alone."