@lxcune
Ysabelle was standing somewhere high up on a wall where usually the soldiers would stand guard, watch over the sea on the look-out for dangerous ships or any other thing that could form a threat. The sight of her, leaning against the strong stone that kept them safe from people that wanted to do bad was an odd one. Yet after a while, the soldiers stopped paying attention. After all, she did not bother them. They could continue their work as usual, as she made sure she was not on their way. The sea was calm today, not a spot on the clear horizon and the soldiers had started to entertain themselves with games. She was simply staring at the ocean. How the small waves battles as they crashed against one another and than molded into each other. Her hair that had been pulled back so carefully before had been played with by the wind, dark curls now hanging loosly around her face like a frame. Every once in a while she murmered something, but due the wind it was not loud enough for anybody to hear if they were not standing close enough. It was a soft prayer, hail mary, that she repeated. In the first days, she had assumed she would never say a single word of a prayer again. God had failed her and she saw no use in pretending anymore, in hoping that what she said would be heard. After the strongest pain slowly faded, she had started to accept. Now she prayed again, that her mother was safe again. That she had not suffered. Everybody refused to tell the young duchess anything about how her mother died, not even where. In her bed or helping another. Rather she was in pain of at peace. She wanted to stop questioning, but in the back of her mind she could not stop thinking, wondering. Somebody had to have an answer.
