Three days passed like a cold breeze that went unnoticed.
Inside the black castle of Nocture, time seemed to stand still for most of its inhabitants. Merchants still shouted in the market, mixed-race children still ran around with their balls, and the corpse fields continued to yield harvests of softly glowing black mushrooms at night. But for Sylvia, those three days felt like an overly long, too quiet, too… boring interlude.
At this moment, the Queen of Death was lazily lying on a long, soft sofa in her study. The room was spacious; its walls lined with ancient bookshelves mostly filled with recipe books. The faint light from the death crystals hanging on the ceiling gently reflected on Sylvia's pale face, making her pitch-black eyes look like bottomless voids. In her left hand was a thick book, open to the same page for the past two hours. She hadn't even turned a single page.
