The Old Bailey courtroom was a cauldron of simmering anticipation. Every pew was packed, the air thick with the scent of damp wool, stale tobacco, and the collective breath of London's curious and judgmental eyes. Gas lamps flickered, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to mock the solemnity of the proceedings. At the center of it all, bathed in the harsh, unforgiving light, stood Elara Blackwood.