The palace was hung in unnatural silence as Amelia walked the halls, her black skirts brushing the floor. She'd taken careful attention to her appearance today, she was going to speak to the council. They had to set a date for her coronation. She was the only one left. Her uncle Christopher had died several weeks ago of the same plague, her father just last night. No one knew where Gracia was and it wasn't likely she'd come back, not after having seen her mother murdered and almost been murdered herself. Amelia understood. Gracia probably wanted to forget everything that had happened here.
Amelia caught her reflection in a mirror in the hall. She took a moment to stare at her pale, almost ghostly image. She noted that she did not look good in black, but that was all she felt like wearing. Any other colors were simply too energetic for her. She was tired. Tired in her soul and lonely for someone who wouldn't die. Her hair had grown out over the past few years, it now reached to her lower back, tied in a tight shimmering braid that matched her dress almost to the point of disappearing. Her skirts flared out at her hips, silk underskirts giving it a more full appearance. The bodice of the dress was tight, but not to the point of immodesty and there was no way in heaven that anyone could think such a dress immodest. The collar of the dress reached up to just under Amelia's chin, the sleeves were down to her wrists with black lace on the cuffs. Matching black lace was sewn across the top of her bodice over the black silk, giving it a different texture.
The only color that Amelia wore was a silver necklace with a blood red ruby pendant. The ruby was a simple rectangle set into silver. This pendant was really a locket, the hinge was simply hidden. Inside was an old painting of Amelia's mother and father on one side, another old mini painting of Amelia and her sister in the other side. The chan was just long enough to hang the pendant at the beginning of Amelia's hidden cleavage.
Slowly, she turned from her image in the mirror to start down the hall once more, frightening the few remaining servants into thinking she was a ghost. Her walk was so purposeful yet slow and smooth, making her seem as if she weren't touching the floor at all. Her eyes never strayed from their forward gaze. She looked at nothing, noticed nothing. A few more servants fled the palace that day, headed for the hills, spreading the tale of the Pale Princess.