On the roof.
The roof made sense to her, she appreciated heights and dark nights. Outside had been her original intention, because something about the elegance of marble and polished architecture unsettled her, but more than outside, height was a fascination. She belonged up there, on high, there was no question about it. So she perused the roof with nimble steps and a weightless carriage. Her gown was iron elegance, crafted for a queen, but not not exactly maintained or properly cared for. She allowed it's hem to drag across the stairs and floor, she trampled over it in her spiked heels, unaccustomed to the elegance that required a careful step.
Upon the roof, she met the wind like an old friend. Closing her eyes against it's gust, her heart soared, always a wild thing, and she rushed for the edge with such intent and dexterity, that she must have meant to leap clean off.