Limp, the body of Applejack hung from the midnight-blue palette; unsupported hanging high above us in the grand chamber; and despite the chill, no frost formed or steam on our breath. It was an artificial, oily breeze that blew eternally through the main hall. Her body hung head down, attached to the underside of the palette by the sole of her right hoof. She had been drained of blood through a precise incision made from ear to ear. Her hat lay a distance on the floor, fluttering in that morbid, cold air. And there was no blood on the reflective surface of the marbled floor.