Lockmorrow Estate was situated at the northernmost tip of
England in a stormy, desolate region where nothing but rangy sheep would grow.
The manor itself, said to be a under a curse of unknown origin, was made of the
same dark, gray limestone that jutted up from the surrounding fields like
tombstones. No one else would willingly take a job there, no one else would
dare, but Rosalie did not have the virtue of choice. She was desperate.
The moment Rosalie steps inside the house, she knows the rumors are correct. There is something very wrong with Lockmorrow Estate. Something is lurking in the shadows. And whatever it is, it wants her.
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