They all began murmuring, a low, indistinct chorus that filled the heavy silence of the courtroom, and I could see in Raisa's eyes that she wanted to speak—but the words remained trapped in her throat.
"The symptoms he shows mirror those inflicted by a poison," I managed to whisper, my voice trembling like a barely lit flame.
The judges, their faces impassive and their eyes intent on the documents before them, read the medical record of the late Emperor with a sober fascination.
"As the record details," I continued, my voice resonating with a quiet intensity, "he suffered from a rapid heartbeat; his pupils were unnaturally dilated. The report chronicles delirium, sudden bouts of vomiting, even episodes of hallucination, and the physician noted water in his lungs along with scratches upon his larynx." I let the gravity of those clinical details hang in the air, as if each word were another clue to an unfolding tragedy.
