Spoiler
This is the first I've written or posted something in a while. It's just an excerpt from my story, so don't expect to fully understand the context or get more background (though it should stand alone as a scene). I'm mostly posting this because I'm uncomfortable with constructing scenes that aren't centered around dialogue. I'm not used to writing a lot of descriptive prose, but not all scenes can rely on dialogue and I need to learn to make those scenes just as engaging. So please help me out with my prose or with any other comments you may have. 
Jacqueline walked through the open doorway of the study.
Her eyes scoured the room, thinking it empty as it had first seemed, until she caught sight of two motionless figures seated in armchairs near a corner. Adele was the first, her profile resembling some Grecian statue until she turned her head to Jacqueline. Her stoic expression did not change, and her dark eyes seemed to burn into Jacqueline's core.
About fifteen yards stood between them. Jacqueline, not unused to the look, merely took it in for a second before turning her attention to the second figure.
It was a tribute to Adele's presence that Jacqueline's focus came to Adele first, especially considering Rose's figure was facing her.
Rose sat just as lifeless as Adele, but with a very different type of eeriness. Her dress lay perfect and straight down her body, and her arms lay primly on the sides of the chair. Her head rested on the high-backed chair, titled upward toward the ceiling.
Her blond hair, however, was strewn across her face, strands stuck sweatily to her pale forehead and cheekbones. The dark red circle of a bullethole skewed her forehead. Streams of blood ran down her face from the hole and stuck to wisps of matted hair. Her eyes remained open as she stared, unseeing, to the ceiling.
Jacqueline's jaw dropped, and her attention turned back to Adele. Stoic as ever, she stared back, her lips turning upward in a slight smile at Jacqueline's expression.
Jacqueline resumed an impassive expression and reassessed the scene. The two young women sat in velvet green, high-backed armchairs, some distance from herself across the room. Their two chairs bordered a low, wooden table on which a pistol still laid. Both figures sat just as quiet, just as still as when Jacqueline had first walked in.
Adele, seated next to Rose's dead body, for all respects even imitating the corpse's pose. Rose, who had not even been supposed to die. Adele, sitting there, motionless and calculating. The two of them sitting there together, in some sort of demented harmony. The spacious, pristinely neat room. The air, pounding down on Jacqueline's head.
She took a breath. She knew Adele would not enact this scene just to disturb her. Adele had to wait for her in this room, and how else would she wait other than stoic, and why would she ever be inconvenienced to change her seat. Still, the scene was unnerving, as was her burning question of who had shot the woman: Adele or one of the other two. But she supposed it did not matter.
Adele continued looking at her, waiting. Jacqueline internally shook her head and spoke.
“Mathieu is ready. He has a car waiting in the street.” She prided herself on the calmness of her voice, but the sound still seemed to shatter the empty room.
“Good.” Adele's voice was cold and smooth, somehow fitting perfectly into the room in which Jacqueline felt so out of place. She rose from her armchair and walked over to Rose's body.
Standing over Rose's seated body, she paused, and Jacqueline caught her breath.
Adele slowly bent down, her hand extended out to Rose's face. She touched her cheekbone first, as if curious. Then, tenderly, she swept all the hair out of her face and wiped away some of the blood. She then stood up a little and looked down at the body as if examining her handiwork. With a final touch, she bent back down to gently smooth the top of Rose's head. Her bloody hands left a red trail across the lifeless blond hair.
She turned away from the body then with a subtle air of finality. Rose Leburn was no longer of consequence, and no thoughts would be attributed to her.
The air pounded down on Jacqueline and the room started shaking. She wished for a clear head above anything. Things were picking up, and she could barely stand straight.
Adele walked slowly toward her and Jacqueline had to force her feet to remain rooted. It would be stupidity to fear a girl she had spent almost her entire life with, a woman who depended on her more than either on of them could probably articulate.
Adele stopped within arm's length of her and Jacqueline raised her eyes. Adele stared down at her with a familiar glint.
“Will you be okay, Jackie dear, or will you need a moment to cry?”
The words were quiet and sickly sweet. She breathed them down on Jacqueline, who looked up into her cold, calculating face.
“I'm fine.”
“Good,” Adele said, their gazes still locked. “We've no time for weakness.”
Jacqueline swallowed. Adele, however, broke the gaze. Her expression softened as she turned her eyes instead to Jacqueline's fair hair, giving Jacqueline a chance to examine her. Her face was pale and beautiful as ever. Her hair and eyes were just as dark, magnified against the sharp contrast of her skin. But a sort of energy and power seemed now to be confined in her which radiated from her at her will.
Adele lifted a hand to her, focusing Jacqueline's attention back to the present. Her expression unreadable, she smoothed the top of Jacqueline's hair, her touch soft.
Slowly, she withdrew her hand and stared once more at Jacqueline.
“Besides, emotions will inhibit you.” Her voice was still cold, still seemed like an integral part of the room itself, as if the walls or velvet green armchairs had instead uttered the words.
Jacqueline looked once more into the glint of her eyes until Adele turned from her. She heard the footsteps as Adele walked behind her, across the room, and out the door from which she had entered.
But her own feet remained rooted in the center of the room. She stood there for a long moment, breathing deeply, before turning to leave. As she neared the door she caught sight of her own reflection in an ornate sliver mirror, and she paused.
Her eyes followed the trail of red that Adele's touch had left on her blond hair. She heard a whimper, and she saw her mouth move, as she stood alone in the empty room.
After a while Jacqueline collected herself, and she followed Adele out to the car.
.
