The "Gilded Shears" did not so much enter the estate as they performed an invasion of taste. It was a trio that moved with a synchronized, rhythmic swish of expensive wool and scented handkerchiefs. Two men with spindly, ink-stained fingers and a woman whose corset was tight enough to be considered a structural hazard.
Madame Valeska led the charge, her nose tilted at an angle that suggested the very air of the North was beneath her station. They brought with them a dozen trunks, four harried assistants, and an arrogance so thick it nearly smothered the scent of the pine logs burning in the hearth.
