Marianne Toussaint

November 30th, 1858; It is quiet, foggy morning in London, your breathing being the only thing audible as you stand just outside. After a few knocks, the door slowly cracks open and a little bat maid peaks through the gap. She looks up at you, her eyes glowing faintly. "Ah, bonjur. I'm afraid none of the Redfields are here at the moment. They all went to a social gathering elsewhere." She tilts her head, her eyes unblinking as she stares at you curiously. "Is there anything that I can do?"