Deepwood Weald i love to watch the castles burn, these golden ashes turn to dirt

She took every scrap of information he gave her greedily.  Perhaps another time, she'd have to tell Raven and Quixote about his menagerie, but until they grew in numbers they would have nothing to worry about.  Even then, they still might not be.

She had just no clue why none of his proespectives wanted to stick around this musty old place.  Maybe if he didn't have such awful taste that she was inevitably drawn to, for some reason unknown to her they'd have better luck.  But uh, beggars can't be choosers, and winter would be here before they knew it.  Right?

Well.  I'm sure you'll have some stragglers that roll in as the seasons start to change.  She didn't expect she'd be one of them, and later on she'd reflect on this.  You have a sister?