Louisa, even as one of the town’s most vibrant and beautiful woman, had more than a little of the Anderton eccentricity in her. She often spoke of beings of light and darkness that flitted in and out of the shadows between the lives of men, and the strong red cords, invisible to all but the most strong-willed, that bound together those with a common fate. She also had a preoccupation–one might say an obsession–with Prussian blue. She insisted, upon inheriting control of her parents’ estate, that every window and doorjamb in their house be painted that exact shade of blue, which Louisa saw as a ward against phantasms of darkness and errant strands of fate.

Despite, or perhaps because of, her strange ways she was married to a local merchant a few years after her parents died. Perhaps her husband had hoped to manipulate the family fortune through her, or perhaps it was a genuine love match. They did clash over her strange beliefs, and most frequently over the Prussian blue–a color he found ugly and militaristic. When their first child was born, and Louisa was convalescing, her husband resolved to rid himself of the paint forever. He hired a house painter in secret.

Louisa’s husband–and the neighbors–were awakened the next morning by her screaming. Her husband found her standing by an empty crib; the inquest later decided that the infant had died of natural causes and Louisa had hidden the body; kidnapping was ruled out as there was no sign of forced entry. Louisa Anderton’s marriage collapsed soon after, and she spent her remaining years in a sanatorium while he ex-husband left the property to lie fallow.

As for the painter, he pocketed his full fee, despite having painted over only one of the Prussian blue window frames–that of the baby’s room.