Dulcie was no stranger to mourning. In fact with pretty dresses put away once she regained her faculties, it was not difficult to find the many black dresses she had tucked away in the back of her armoire. She hadn't been to the tavern in the weeks past Rhaena's murder. She had sunk into that dark, deep place of mourning and loss that was all too familiar to the innkeeper.
She had spent weeks inside her cottage, crying and cursing the Gods that she didn't believe in. She had heard the tales about the Storyteller and she had no doubt that Rhaena would never have done the horrible things she had done if it hadn't have been for the Storyteller's influence. She herself had been a victim, searching for love amongst dozens of faces that had no true love for her. It had all felt so real. Perhaps in a way she had hoped that it would have all gone away. That this too was unreal and that one day she would wake up and her friend would be alive, that Glenn would be sleeping on her couch after a bad row with his loved one and that everything would be the way that it had been over a year ago.
So much time had passed however, and Dulcie had to let go of the hope that this had all been some horrible illusion. She tried not to cry as she buttoned herself into one of those black gowns of mourning, choosing one with a nice high collar, after memories of all those months flouncing around exposing her skin. She sniffled as she bound her hair up into a braided bun and left her cottage, watching the sun rise on the two graves in her yard that were dedicated to those she had already lost. She might have added a third, but somehow she knew that wouldn't be right. Rhaena wasn't all hers, and she was sure she wasn't the only one mourning.
By the time she reached the meetinghouse and requested the now Governor Treadwell she had managed to get ahold of herself, her eyes only rimmed red with the evidence of tears that had been, but clear of any that might have threatened to come. She had a purpose here, and she wasn't going to let her emotions get in the way.