An eternity of stifling silence had passed within the large hall.
Lost in self-loathing, Draven did not even realize when or how he left. He had been wandering like he lost his own soul. By the time he snapped out of his daze, he was standing outside the entrance of the clan building. A familiar face with a cane was coming towards him from the opposite direction, causing his hollowed gaze to regain a bit of clarity.
Black Witch Zelda.
The old witch did not expect to chance on the King, and though she had the heart to attend Morpheus' wake, she dared not face Draven with a clear conscience.
Their gazes met but neither acknowledged each other, both sides not saying a single word.
Leaving her witch companion outside, Zelda entered the wake where her poor vision found not a single soul, except for a young winged man standing in front of Morpheus' corpse like a stone statue.
