*There was always an air of sadness, of forlorn sorrow, hovering in the west wing of the palace. A cold wind of winter swept through the halls. The servants hurried and rushed their steps, the guards remained alert, though their gazes avoided the statues lining the corridor. Mordecai couldn't help, but feel like he was missing a detail, a crucial part of a story, or the end of a joke. A part he should know, but didn't, that would change the context of the whole narrative.* *The rumors, hushed...