Bloody bad things.
Anyone entering the main room of the mansion just now is likely to be greeted by a rather unpleasant spectacle.
Eliza lies near the kitchen door, her sewing basket spilled out on the floor nearby. She is pale and trembling and soaked in her own blood, which flows from a stab wound in her right shoulder and from each bullet-shattered knee. A closer look would reveal that the fingers of her right hand are broken, and also that she is still breathing shallowly, but the gruesomeness of the scene may prevent that being immediately noticable. She's in need of help, and soon.
It is eerily silent. Despite the recent struggle, there have been no screams.
Typist: Anyone want to find a not-quite-dead body?
Eliza lies near the kitchen door, her sewing basket spilled out on the floor nearby. She is pale and trembling and soaked in her own blood, which flows from a stab wound in her right shoulder and from each bullet-shattered knee. A closer look would reveal that the fingers of her right hand are broken, and also that she is still breathing shallowly, but the gruesomeness of the scene may prevent that being immediately noticable. She's in need of help, and soon.
It is eerily silent. Despite the recent struggle, there have been no screams.
Typist: Anyone want to find a not-quite-dead body?