I was following Kaiser. It wasn't exactly obedience, but rather a form of necessity, as if an invisible thread was pulling me toward him. He was moving away from the crowded salons, the feigned laughter, and the warmth of the candles. We delved deeper into less lighted corridors. Our steps echoed differently on the stone.
The light became scarce. The torches were spaced out, and the blue glow of the moon passed through the high stained-glass windows. It drew colored and pale shapes on the floor. The air was cooler. It smelled of cold wax and damp stone.
Kaiser pushed a heavy oak door. It opened onto a closed loggia, an indoor balcony whose arches overlooked an empty courtyard. We were sheltered from view. The only light came from a shaft of moonlight above our heads.
