Morning arrived gently over the city of Rammstein, sunlight draping the Palace grounds with golden light. Birds chirped in the distance and a faint wind brushed the dew-covered grass. The estate stirred slowly to life.
Inside the northern servant quarters which were large buildings built to house the workforce and their families.
Since it was dawn the doors creaked open as maids, cleaners and gardeners exited with groggy eyes and polished shoes. They moved in unison, the Palace staff trained to operate with mechanical and excellent discipline.
Their first duty, as always, was to clean the estate lawns. The Palace's garden spanned vast land which was beautiful yet monotonous for those tasked to maintain it.
Weeds had to be pulled. Dead leaves swept. The fountains scrubbed, and the grass trimmed but today was different.
One servant paused mid-step, narrowing her eyes at a dark shape lying in the distance across the trimmed greenery. She blinked, was it a rock? A mound of cloth?
