The night was cold and moonless, and fat, fluffy snowflakes danced in the air above Lothian City, blanketing it in a fresh coat of white powder that crunched underfoot.
In the east garden of Lothian Manor, Ashlynn sat under the shelter of a gazebo, sipping hot tea while she worked through the day's reports. Several braziers burned around her, creating a fragile pocket of warmth that pushed back against the winter cold, but rumors had already begun to circulate through Lothian Manor about why Ashlynn spent so much time out in the cold instead of working from the office of the Marquis or any other office within the sprawling manor.
Some rumors claimed that only the icy cold of winter could quiet the rage and bloodlust in her heart. Others said that she was grieving for the husband she'd killed and that suffering in the snow was a form of self-imposed penance. None of the rumors came close to the truth.
