Anastasia

It is deathly silent.
No one dares make a single sound. Movement is out of the question. They stand, petrified into stillness; waiting.
Their numbers far exceed the hundreds. Noblemen, merchants and beggars alike; countless faces: upturned and expectant. All eyes fixed in fearful veneration on a large, raised platform in the center of the courtyard.
The courtyard itself is vast: a cavernous enclosure encircled by the towering stone walls of the palace. It is enshrouded completely in darkness; the moon a barely visible sliver of pale light in the cloudless midnight sky. There are black-cloaked palace guards lining the walls, torchbearers hulking in every niche and corner. The flames throw long and looming shadows over the flagstones that seem to come alive with frightening clarity. Gargoyles: mid-descent, bodies bent, talons extended menacingly; dragons: mid-growl, heads reared, jaws locked in fearful combat.