It was a morning thick with the aroma of certain death. Many people, mainly workers, gathered outside the quarters of their master's chamber, sincerely anticipating the news of what was to come. It had been many weeks in this mansion situated in a farm where the owner, Hanz Wasserman, was lessening his iron grip around his workers with a mysterious sickness that sapped that very energy to harm away from him. In the middle of this vast expanse of farmlands, the Wasserman estate and farm was the only place around that gave the land a reputation: The Farmland of the Kings. Great crops, animals, and weather-- my, it was certainly the envy of many. Though now, the workers felt unsure if the Wasserman estate were to keep it's glory once it's owner passed away. Hanz had nobody in his world....until... The day of his death. Laying on the bed, Hanz' pale skin matched those of the sheets his maid had left him earlier. Breathing to him became an impossible chore. However, a young man with jet black hair and blue eyes sitting in front of him made Hanz make an effort in breathing. At least till he spoke. "Jesse..." Hanz wheezed. "...Jesse...you've been...very loyal....responsible...worker..." Giving a cough, he dragged his red eyes at the young man named Jesse. Jesse looked at Hanz with an uncomfortable expression, but seems to try and contain himself as he whispers "..Don't spend so much energy talking....just relax..." "N-No!" Hanz yelled, making Jesse flinch. "..I know...I should be silent...save my energy for the priest...but...I must...tell you....you need to know...you have to know so that...my company...the farm...everything....it has to live on..." Jesse rose a brow. "Yes, master..?" "Don't...c-call me master...anymore..." Hanz, finally looking much closer to his end, prepared his last words with a tearful stare. "..You...are my son......and rightful heir to everything....I've...worked so hard to earn..." Jesse was at a loss of words. His boss, the man who had beat him all his life and been so cruel...his father? His rich...rich father. While this poor man was-- it couldn't be, right? ---------------------------------------------- "My little girl, where are you?!" A woman's voice called out as she trekked the long hallways of her mansion. Tripping over some adornments on the floor, the woman of about 50 years of age growled to herself as she looked for her daughter. A news paper hung in her hands with each step making her arms jerk forward. It seemed like she was bothered about something. "You are in for it now, child! I've read it all! Your fiance, the son of Roberta Essel and the mayor, left you? Why!" She said, hoping her daughter were to answer although not seeming to be an earshot around. "This was going to be the wedding of the century! The talk of the town! Get out here, child, and explain! No sane woman would reject such a fine young man of our high class!" She said, hoping her daughter would appear to confront her.