Selin Hizli

It proves impossible to engage her in even the most basic conversation.

She hobbles away, travelling in an almost sideways direction like some demented, disorientated crab.

In the great hall, the coffin lies on a table in the middle of the room.

The Comte's widow.

He kept me in Paris, as a rule.

His mother and I have been at odds.

I have not seen her since it happened.

May I ask something?

Why does my husband not have an open casket?

I know a tree fell on him, and for days he lay undiscovered.

Even so, must he be denied a last moment in the light?

I only wish to lay one final kiss upon his lips.

I must see him.

Can I rely on you to assist?

Will you help us have an intimate moment before the body is interred?

Perhaps a small donation will secure your cooperation?

That night, we keep our vigil for the cont until the rest of the household is asleep.

Gloom seeps from every corner.

Only the orange glow of the fire in the grate and a single flickering candle resting on the coffin lid prevent darkness having complete dominion.

Do the job I paid you for, father.