Lindsay DuBois, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly one day  in the game with very little to distress or vex her. This proved exceedingly difficult on Miss Jane Austen, who had taken up her pen to continue recording the events of Miss Persephone’s fateful dinner party. Jane Austen wrote wittingly on subjects of courtship, marriage, and a young man in need of a wife, but in matters of murder she had very little experience and still less time to get some. Yet here, a murder most foul had occurred, and someone needed to say something. She turned towards the other writers of England for advice, met Lord Byron at a dinner, and promptly gave up on English literature entirely. Yet the Americans were not much better, and so she once again returned to her writing desk armed only with her own mind.

When Lindsay DuBois was murdered, found with an ornate gothic sword stabbed through the heart, it was no matter of self-defense. Lindsay had bid her spouse goodnight, heading to her own separate suite at a respectable hour, and during her candlelit walk the dark shadowy forces that haunted Miss Persephone’s estate surrounded her quickly. It was a horror that could strike fear in the bosom of any spinster, let alone an Austen heroine. But she was clever and she was quick, and in the instant before her death she learned fully the terribly secret of why she had been chosen to die.

Lindsay DuBois was vanilla town. She is now dead. She implores you all to attend her twilight memorial service at 7 pm cst Monday evening. 

Yet with her death, suddenly a most distinguished spouse had become an eligible bachelor once more. Mrs. Bennett was delighted with the turn of events, and set about to find suitors for each of her children once more.
And the Anti-Christ saw what horrors night one had wrought, and was glad they had decided to investigate once more.