Isabella
The banquet hall glittered as though the night sky had bent low and spilled all its stars across the ceiling. Golden chandeliers dangled overhead, their flames swaying gently, shadows dancing on the carved walls like restless spirits. The long table stretched before us, dressed in white silk and heavy with food roasted venison dripping with herbs, golden loaves torn open to reveal their steam, berries so ripe their fragrance mixed with the wine.
The hum of voices filled the hall, a constant rise and fall like waves against a cliff. Laughter too though shallow, false, sharpened with politics. The clink of goblets, the scrape of knives on plates, the thick smell of roasted meat and spiced wine it all pressed down on me. My dress of emerald silk clung to my skin where the candles
