Crows are a sign of impending death.

That’s all I can think about as I look out over the gardens from my balcony. The morning is thick with fog and it shrouds the castle, cutting me off from the rest of the world. It sinks into the trees and lingers between the violets and roses like a ghost from long ago. There, in the center of the dizzying purples and reds, sits a crow perched on the bird bath....