Charles looks dreadful, as if it’s costing him every ounce of ebbing strength to stay alive. He clutches onto the armrests of the throne as if it’s the only thing keeping him here and grounded.
Margot walks through the crowd which parts as she passes. She looks magnificent, clad in a gown of cream silk embroidered with silver lilies, ropes of evenly matched pearls around her neck, pinned on her bosom and entwined in her inky dark hair which streams loose down her back. From the back of the throne room Walt sees her as a shining luminous figure drawing the eye of all in the room; an angel cast adrift in Hell searching for the light.
She throws herself at his feet, prostrating herself.
“Rise, my sister.” he says fondly, standing to embrace her. “My dear girl.”
Margot addresses her brothe
