Duskfire Glacier tri

the mighty reine de Feumont had returned from a far-reaching tour of her lands, where she'd hunted prey that had collected eastwise in her absence. most of note was a bachelor group of four young bucks, led by an elder in his prime. she thought him a good trophy, in aesthetics and symbolism equally, and so spent a good few days on making him so - from flowing blood to shaped bone.

now she returned with the buck's crown - beautiful set of velvet-encased antlers, still connected to a segment of skull. in the queen's great pride as she entered her stronghold, she missed the subtle signs of a foreigner, until her descent into darker halls - where she'd found a ribcage, very deliberately placed in one corner as décor, moved out of place as if to mock her sensibilities.

the wildling crown clattered to the floor. with a sharp inhale the queen sought further traces of someone's invasion, aghast to find them not faded as a cowardly thief's would be - but daringly fresh.

her majesty knew so far in one could be led to either her chambers, or the fountain room. scent or sound, which would this brut be enticed by?

in vanity she picked, and screamed into the hall leading into her bedchambers - this sound of rage sharpened to a piercing point sent in reverberation and repeat through all segments of her palais, including the fountain room where water thundered, the queen's back turned to the hall at the end of which it laid.