The giant doors of iron and wood were ajar and she peeped in, her gaze lingering on the throne. She’d knelt before it when she’d presented the King with her father’s sealed letter. She started to enter, feeling an impish desire to recreate the scene, when a strong and sudden wind blew down the hall, coming from nowhere. It blew up her skirts and tugged at her hair, and she turned, shaking, expecting to see a great bodach pointing a finger at her, but she could see nothing. There was only the wind, rustling the gonfalons on an aged banner, lifting the flaps. Feeling more foolish than fearful, Mirella had gone to stand before it.

The wind stopped. She lifted one of the gonfalons to let in more light and discovered a staircase.  An extremely dirty staircase filled with mouse dropping and hanging cobwebs. She spied two empty sconces from where she stood. There could be light, if someone only bothered. Maybe she would.

         Releasing the gonfalon, Mirella had managed to take two steps before falling flat on the third.