Ulrich sat in the silence of his office, the doors shut against the outside world. A stack of freshly penned letters rested on the edge of his desk, addressed to his tenant lords and various knightly orders. He had spent the afternoon burying himself in the tedious administration of his lands, pressing his signet ring into hot wax until his fingers grew stiff. It was an excuse to keep his mind occupied, an attempt to maintain order in his mind. Yet, despite his efforts, the neatly written parchment offered no true distraction.
Monika and Fabian had both come to his door, their soft knocks and polite inquiries about lunch. Ulrich had dismissed them, refusing to break his self-imposed isolation.
