The hallways of the crown prince's palace dipped in a never-ending somberness without a soul, without a sound. A bunch of bats flapped, and an owl hooted occasionally, breaking the silence as the night haze coated the flower garden. The stillness was magical compared to the other side of the palace.
In one of the hallways, warm blood stained the polished floor, plopping along the way. A random wall had a mark of a palm made of red. The blood trailed downwards from it. In that corridor, the only flame flapped, facing the sudden gust that came to get rid of it. As the source of it was more powerful than nature, the torch could not bear it. It gave up and let the darkness take over.
