Lydia has always been someone who prides herself on routine. It is one of those ordinary things that helps with feeling in control of ones own life. A steady routine means a steady life after all.

She wakes up at 7.30 and ready herself for the day. Her hair is brushed, her face cleaned. Irene will help her with the dresses and by the time it is 8.15 she will be ready for a light breakfast.

Afterward she has a stroll through the garden or forest, sometimes even through the village if that is to her liking.

By 12.30 Lydia returns to have lunch together with Irene.

At 13.00 she asks Irene about anything interesting in town that she may have missed. Usually the reply will be solid 'no', before they turn towards other topics.

Later, she withdraws to her room or the library and usually spends the rest of her day reading all those books she does not know by heart yet. Which aren't that many, but she has long learned to not be picky about most of such things anymore. If she is lucky Irene will bring her new ones on occasion, though it is rare for them to be anything but poorly written smut. Her maid thinks it funny when Lydia scrunches up her nose at such books.

Dinner is served at 19:00 sharp, and usually Irene will join her for the end of the day. Though they rarely speak at the table, not that Irene does not try. It is merely that silence has been ingrained into her ever since she was young. It comes with being a lady. They have been working to get rid of that bullshit notion, though they have yet to have a breakthrough. Baby steps.

Once dinner is over, the preparation for the night will take place. The cellar will be locked and each lock is checked at least thrice to make certain they have not rusted beyond repair or broken off the night prior. An offering of flowers will be placed at the door to the attic, usually purple Hyacinths, but daffodils will also do in a pinch.

Afterward she will walk each path in the house thrice together with Irene, something about their joint steps seems to placate the house into near silence for those nightly moments. Once that is done, she is quick to ascend the steps to her room once more. She has Irene help her with her nighttime routine, the undressing, bathing and redressing. Upon her maid's leave, Lydia will lock her own door and finally retire.

Of course sleep evades her. So she is left to stare at the ceiling, contemplating each of her life choices for at least an hour or two before the banging on her door finally starts. Is it strange that she can only fall asleep to that furious drum against old wood? It will lull her to sleep.

And then... repeat.

Such is the way of things, how it always has been ever since her father had gone and died. A part of her loathes him that he has left her like this, a bit hollow and mighty lost, living the same day over and over. Known things are so much easier to bear than the strange ones.

Lydia would have been happy to remain like this, could have learned to at least, but of course then something or rather someone just comes and throws a wrench into her carefully laid out plans.In her case, it is the reporter, Sloane Aldrich knocking at her door, asking all those questions she cannot answer.

It somehow feels like it is ruining everything, it already messes with her routine for that day.

And it somehow keeps on happening. She can see Sloane walking past the manor in the following two days, looking more disturbed each time she does so. Lydia assumes she must have seen the faceless lady. A pity how that encounter has not scared the woman away.

Irene will tell her of the reporter's actions over supper and that is something that also should not be happening. Sloane should not be any more interesting than anyone else on this sad, forgotten island.  Yet her she is, walking around and making her presence known. The woman puts herself where she clearly does not belong, asking questions that cannot be answered. She is running around, bothering anyone who will let themselves be disturbed. It is infuriating how some of the people take to her. Sloane is a breath of fresh air, one that will be choked out by this island sooner or later. Mawbrooke is always hungry.

Lydia would prefer if she left before that happened.

Of course Irene thinks differently on that matter. She thinks it is funny, goes as far as comparing the reporter to a puppy that is begging for attention. Perhaps here she too just wishes to see Lydia scoff in disagreement. Though slowly, but surely Sloane Aldrich begins to make her way into daily conversation, until one night, Irene looks at her and just says.

"She doesn't even really seem to know what she is doing. Soon enough she will lose interest and go back to wherever she came from. No need to be so miffed about it, L-y-d-i-a." Irene grins, drags out the letters of her name, teasing.

And well... that is that.