My footsteps echo through the empty room. Every time I walk up and down, it rings in my ears. It's one of the few sounds I'm aware of at this moment. I block out the other noises, concentrating on my footsteps, on the wind hissing through the cracks in the enormous walls of the throne room.
I place my hands together in front of my body. I massage my palms and fingers. I can feel the cold material of the rings that adorn my long, slender fingers. Some of them are still particularly close to my heart. Then I place my left hand on my stomach.