Pose as a servant (Waswood)

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From: An Empress' Grief


Garb yourself in the stuff of dream, and wander the halls without drawing a second glance.

Locked with Sample of Delicately Distilled Grief


Success

Grappled

[…] you hear the Empress' voice. […]

[…] Her words […] sounding like an apology, like vows, like an expression of profound regret.

[…] She's left […] You walk in. The Consort is still on his throne […] He doesn't move, or make any sound […] you snatch a tear-soaked handkerchief.

[Find the rest of the story at https://www.fallenlondon.com]