Rosalie's heart leaped to her throat as she contemplated the gravity of the proposition. Could it truly be her—stepping forth to vote alongside the esteemed Imperial Council for her own brother's execution? The notion seemed utterly preposterous, yet an inexplicable force tugged at her heartstrings, urging her to rise and claim the vacant seat behind the council table. It was as if the spirit of the original Rosalie implored her to take revenge on Raphael in her stead.
Summoning strength from within, she inhaled deeply, finding solace in the breath, and resolutely advanced toward the vacant seat once occupied by Lord Steinhem. With deliberate poise, she settled herself at the council table. A black fountain pen and a small rectangular piece of paper awaited her touch. Her unwavering gaze fixed upon her brother's countenance, Raphael's eyes locked with hers, and a smile—a smile that appeared almost jubilant—graced his lips, sending an unsettling churn through Rosalie's stomach.
