Dour and humorless, Cesare Visconti exceeds even his mother in stoniness. Brought up in both necromancy and subterfuge by his grandmother, it can scarcely be imagined that Cesare was once a shy and timid child. Now, this Visconti is preoccupied only with what will advance the prestige of his family.

At his feet lie the trampled petals of an orchid, dropped by some careless passerby.

and here comes another one of whatever these are. i want them to tell a sort of vague mini-story when all paired together... here we see cesare holding the scroll silvia was writing. she stamped it with a little sprig of leaves! how cute. is cesare delivering it for his sister, or was it intercepted on its way to its destination?