My steps slow, however, when I see castle workers chipping away the last of the white paint still on the wall. The paint I ordered to try to cover the gold beneath. With scrapers in hand, the men work to peel away the layers bit by bit and then use a rag to wipe away the curdled white, leaving them to scatter on the ground like piles of dust. Or snow. My hand pauses where I grip the banister railing before I force myself to face forward once more and start my ascent up the steps. The palace has been looted, the paint’s been stripped away, and Highbell is gold and empty, with no king and a
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