ELEANOR
So much can change and become different in so little time.
It was the same for me. Eleanor Sinclair.
The first one, for example, was that I was returning to Kieran Lancaster's home after three years of being away from him. I had first come here at night, forced into the interior of his car. Now, I was coming in a car like before, but one with a chauffeur who had a crisp uniform on and held on tight to the steering wheel and stared ahead with maximum concentration.
It was the same, too, when I got out and started to go inside the house that belonged to the Lancaster. The last time I was here, I had rags for clothes, with each hole a testament to the beating and hitting that I endured as a slave in this very house. Now, I had better clothes that would make those who saw me rank
