Isolde grabbed the edges of her thick cloak and pulled it tighter around herself, shivering a bit with the chill. The motion pulled the fabric which resulted in the hood coming loose from her head and her messy hair being pulled along with it. Isolde made no further move to adjust the careful arrangement as she finally felt a degree warmer, hugging herself. Perhaps it wasn’t that cold - but Isolde had a chill she’d been unable to rid herself of since she left Arngrim and the dreary sky made it worse. 

	Isolde had watched the royal guard arrive and had a feeling she knew what the meeting in the town was about. She was one of the first of what would probably become many individuals coming from Arngrim to get away from the aftermath of the attack. The royal family could not turn a blind eye to the blatant disregard for life and the throne. Isolde sat on the edge of the cleared out square and watched as hundreds of citizens poured in for the message. She had decided, upon arriving at Arngrim, that she would keep to the sidelines. That’s what she usually did as a servant, anyway. But here it was different, here she was making the deliberate decision to keep herself separate. The more people arrived, the colder she became. This would be the perfect place and time for another attack, wouldn’t it? Isolde hugged herself tighter as images of the aftermath and of her “family” flickered through her mind. 

	It came quickly. Panic. She looked around, more and more people, all of them strangers. She couldn’t trust any of them. She didn’t know them. She didn’t know anyone anymore. They were all taken from her. In a crowded city, not much different from this. Her eyes fixated on the makeshift podium as she began to hyperventilate. She was trying to keep herself quiet - to avoid attention. But the strange feelings were consuming. She was unable to stem the feelings of panic.