The doors to the great hall opened slowly, and Lilian could feel her heart racing as the Duke guided her inside. Each step echoed too loudly in her ears despite the vastness of the space.
Warm light spilled outward, cast by countless candles lining the towering walls. Their flames flickered gently, gilding the hall in gold and amber hues. The air within carried the faint scent of incense and winter-bloomed flowers, befitting a night curated for remembrance.
If Lilian had assumed she might be overdressed, that illusion shattered the moment her gaze swept across the hall. Nobles stood in hushed clusters, their dark silks and muted colors blending into a tapestry of mourning dignity. But beneath all that somber palette lay an undeniable truth; grief was only a part of performance, the rest was spectacle.
