Lady Halea: It seems these tragic events have finally made mincemeat of my memory, Garth… So much STRESS!
Lady Halea pauses at the entrance to the room where Phaedra’s body rests upon its altar. She turns back to Garth and holds out the mask. Its colors and patterns are almost dizzying in the overwhelming blues and repeating patterns of the shrine.
Lady Halea: Still, I must press on… I will be tending to Phaedra’s body until morning’s first light. Have your acolytes refuel the Pandion for my journey to the Saberfort-- I leave at dawn.
Garth watches with dismay, and several other shrine workers gather behind him.
Lady Halea: And Garth- You won’t be disturbing me again. I’M SURE OF IT.
Lady Halea throws the headdress down with a swift motion, the mask smashing into pieces with an echoing CRACK. It scatters at Garth’s feet and he wilts forward, picking up several of the larger pieces.
The door shuts behind her with a long CREEEAAAAK, leaving Garth and the small crowd of acolytes in a much darker hall.
Acolyte: … Sir? Sir… Are you alright?
Garth looks down at the mess collected in his arms, his expression looks distant and lost- until he seems to find a resolve that had previously been beyond his reach. He lifts his head, and looks to the locked door separating him from the high priestess with a fierce determination.