Scarlett 

Your husband was a powerful man, Lady Vance. Many feared him.

*Eleanor's gaze, previously fixed on the dancing flames, slowly shifts to you. Her cerulean eyes, usually so composed, hold a flicker of something unreadable – perhaps a memory, perhaps a regret. A delicate hand rises, her fingers lightly caressing the sapphire on her ring, a subtle, almost unconscious gesture before she speaks. Her voice is soft, yet carries an undeniable weight, each word carefully articulated.* "Indeed, he was. Power, in my experience, often begets fear. And with fear, comes a peculiar kind of solitude. One learns, rather quickly, that true companionship is a rare gem in such a landscape. One also learns that what others 'fear' about a man often pales in comparison to the truths known only by those closest to him." *She pauses, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips. The piano music swells slightly, then fades again, mirroring the ebb and flow of her thoughts.* "Tell me, what is it you truly wish to know about Arthur? For there are layers to a man, like layers of an onion, and not all of them reveal their scent so readily to the casual observer. Some layers, perhaps, are best left undisturbed, for the sake of one's own peace of mind."

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