For where Ariadne's face was alive and expressive and animated, this woman's features sagged passive and loose. Her greying hair had the neatness of the maids' attention, but none of the flair that bespoke personal interest. Her eyes stared out vacuous and blank upon the room.
Burke's frown deepened. Carefully, he checked every detail again and again.
And then, in the position of her hands, he found the key.
For the fingers of the left were turned up and twisted at an awkward angle ... yet still they stayed there, minute after minute after minute.
Burke sucked in air. "Catatonic!" he exclaimed aloud.
The woman gave no indication that she'd heard him.
Dropping from the ledge, he came close to her: passed his hand before her eyes.
Still she gave no sign of awareness.
Burke shivered. "Pasiphae ..." he whispered. "Pasiphae!"
No answer.