*Donoghan Duchy*
About a week after the supposed assassination of Isabella, the sky over the duchy was dark.
Thick black clouds smothered the light, allowing only a pale and cold clarity to filter through. The wind rushed in brutal gusts, announcing persistent rain. Already, a few drops were splattering onto the slabs of the manor's rear courtyard.
The courtyard, a paved space of stone. In its center, a wooden platform covered with a black cloth supported the coffin. It was closed, Isabella's body being completely disfigured. Its surface was adorned with a silver plaque engraved with her name.
A few wreaths of lilies and white roses, placed on the lid and at the base, defied the grayness with their fragile glow. Their sweet, heady perfume clashed relentlessly with the smell of soaked earth and damp moss. Torches, planted in wrought-iron holders, crackled and hissed around the platform; their yellow flames, tugged by the wind, cast shifting and uncertain shadows over the assembly.
