Eward was meant to be dozing, or so had been his intentions when he had slipped into his fine armchair but he was now simply tearing off parchment, rolling it up and throwing it into the open fire to watch it burn. He sighed; his hair was dischevelled and his composure was all... off. Yet another ball fizzled and burnt, and Eward was still no more satisfied.
He had abandoned his sisters and his friends in his madness, choosing instead to mope about by himself and feel sorry for the ropey old Lord. He could really truly do with a drink.