The next few days in the city are grim.
In the days after the Raven's Midwinter celebration, the doors of the palace stay shut. There are no more public appearances by the Raven, and no proclamations issued. The windows are shuttered or shaded with heavy drapes. As far as you know, Falathar remains in his cell in the palace dungeons. There's been no announcement of formal charges or that a trial is imminent. You're not certain if that means that the Raven is rethinking his suspicions of Falathar, or simply that it would be inconvenient for the Raven to expose his decision to imprison Falathar to public scrutiny.
The guards in the streets discourage throwing stones, but every now and then someone manages to lob one toward a window. People are muttering as they drag in to stores or workshops late and quarrelsome, or loitering in the streets drinking and arguing and cursing the shadows that seem heavier than the morning sun should allow.
But for you, there's only one task that matters. It's time to write your masterpiece: The Fall of Atlantis.
The play is an opportunity to make a difference, but it's also a play. You have a set of historical events to play with, or at least semihistorical events that have filtered down to the present day as a series of contradictory myths. There was a glorious city on an island. A volcano erupted. The city sank beneath the waves. Whether any particular heroic figures escaped the city after a series of romantic adventures is probably unknowable at this point.
But that's why you're writing theater, not history. It's up to you to assemble facts and legends into narrative. You chew on your quill a while. You look out the window, where birds are swirling dark against the clouded sky. Or are they birds? Are birds that shape or that large or that improbably twisted when they turn?
It's probably best to think that they're birds. The play, that's the thing. What is your play going to be about?