Lord Percival's Temper
Centuries ago, in the grand but often tense Blackwood Manor, lived a nobleman named Lord Percival. He was a man of immense wealth and even greater temper.
His moods swung like a pendulum, from jovial laughter to thunderous rage in a heartbeat. The entire household walked a fine line.
Servants moved like ghosts. They spoke in whispers. One wrong word, one misplaced item, one clumsy step – and Lord Percival's fury would explode.
He once fired a stable boy for whistling out of tune. Another time, a maid was dismissed for leaving a window open a crack too wide.
Life at Blackwood Manor was a constant exercise in caution. Everyone learned to anticipate his moods, to avoid his gaze, and to never, ever be the cause of his displeasure.
A Shattered Breakfast
One particularly gray morning, the air in the dining hall felt thick with dread. Lord Percival was already in a foul mood.
Breakfast was served. A plate of fried eggs, usually a simple pleasure, became his target. They were, in his estimation, 'undercooked.' He glared at the cook, who trembled in the kitchen.
Without a word, Lord Percival picked up his plate. He didn't just put it down. He hurled it across the room with a violent heave.
The porcelain shattered against the far wall with a deafening crack. Egg yolk splattered, and fragments of shell scattered across the polished oak floor like tiny, dangerous jewels.
A hush fell over the room. No one dared to move. Lord Percival remained at the head of the table, breathing heavily, his eyes still burning with anger.
Thomas's Delicate Task
Young Thomas, a new footman, was the unfortunate soul ordered to clean the mess. His heart pounded in his chest.