You're perfectly charmed by everyone. You're not tired at all. You're not contemplating whacking anyone with a salami to make them move and let you get past.
Finally, you're able to duck between two black-clad scholars and make your escape out onto the polished dance floor.
A shattering crash interrupts you. Screams and exclamations draw your gaze to the gallery above. There, one of the formerly hanging lamps is dangling askew.
You force your way up the stairs to see, drawn by the sinking sense that something worse than an unexplained accident has occurred. When you reach the gallery, you can see Ezren, lying sprawled against a pillar. From the smear of blood against the pillar, he might have been standing with his back to it when the lamp came crashing down. From the unnatural sprawl of his body, he is very definitely dead.
You can hear more footsteps coming up the stairs. Along the edges of the gallery, the shadows twist and weave. It's easy to believe they're laughing.
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