Overture Downs they placed fire-licked pages at the foot of the crown

vague for now

Perhaps there is more than nothing left for her, though she barely dares herself to will it. Each thought comes accompanied by its shadow: will to live meets turn to death, forsaking atonement meets guilt for chosing so. There is little she can do to win a war against herself and so she has gone in search of something to take the edge off - a little poppy if she's lucky, though she'd settle for lavender or thyme to soothe the anxious beat of her heart. How she is managing to feel everything and nothing at else is beyond her, but she prefers the blanked tranquility of nothing.

Her search is succesful, thank the Gods but she is careful not to overindulge. She's seen, in her time, some succumb to poppy-fueled madness, and it is an inelegant way to make oneself suffer. There is a residual chill in her limbs from her cold water bath. The sinner sighs and lowers herself to the earth, feeling the haze settle in over her. 

The portent... thoughts of him drift idly through her mind. Perhaps it is because he is the first she's seen since leaving Beneath-Night's Breath, the temple, but she cannot help but wonder what will become of her to follow him. Yet, she thinks she will. 

She drifts.