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The western palace was silent, save for the faint scurrying of unseen animals that had taken residence over the long, abandoned months.
The air smelled of dust and damp wood, and the only light came from the narrow windows that let in the cold afternoon sun.
Emily had spent the past several days cleaning, her hands raw and sore from scrubbing centuries of neglect.
Brooms and cloths were all they had, and still the palace looked half-lived-in and ruined.
Lying inside it were broken furniture, tattered curtains, and bedding so old that it threatened to crumble into dust lay scattered across the rooms.
Wild birds had nested in the rafters, and mice had claimed corners of the floors.
Every step Emily took stirred up clouds of dust, and even her tireless efforts barely managed to make the palace habitable.
In the main hall, Catherine sat on a low wooden stool, her back rigid, her eyes vacant.
