One night a child heard crying from somewhere in the house. She wandered the grand manor, in search of the source. Her little bare feet barely made a sound on the old, creaking wooden floor. In each room she looked, she found nothing—nothing but moonlight seeping through thin moth-eaten curtains or chipped porcelain sinks. Down hallways that became galleries for picturesless frames. But still the wails persisted, muffled behind doors and walls. After searching for nearly the whole night, the child came across her father. Sitting in a room where the wooden stain was uneven in its coverage of the floor and darker in color. He was sitting on the edge of a little bed, something far too small for…