Candles glowed softly in the chandeliers, their light warming the frescoed ceilings and curved archways, while shadows wavered along the walls with each flicker. The faint scent of melting wax mingled with the rich aroma of roasted herbs and spiced meats, lingering in the warm air of the dining hall.
Anneliese sat at the table, barely touching her food. The clinking of cutlery and the soft murmur of conversation barely registered as her mind reeled through fragments of the day. Names, faces, events—all blurred together in a haze she could neither sort nor fully comprehend. The echo of the blade slicing through flesh, the dull thud of a head hitting the floor, the slow drip of blood—it all lingered in her mind. She couldn't grasp any of it. Who could she trust? And why did it feel as though everyone at the table was utterly unfazed by what she could barely process?
