Nighttime.

The marks of the war scored through the city like festering wounds, exposed to the elements and bare for corruption and pain. It would take some time to heal, and when those wounds did it would be as ugly, dark scars. Some other, more unaffected parts of the city, would try to lend aid akin to an antibody, but when one has been harmed by both a sudden seige and then a natural disaster … agony reigns king.

Ash was still raining from the sky. Though no where near as vehemently as it had done the first few days of Ashfall. It came as a gentle drizzle, filling the air as a mist, and then settling with quiet. Trees, bare, which had hurt most by the events of the last few weeks, shimmered under a light burden of silvery flakes. A dog scratched at the scraps he had been left. A child drew pictures in the grey snow with a long stick.

Philomel sighed. And turned away from the window. Radasanth was still not well, and she suspected that despite all the good that was happening in the city - all the rebuilding projects, replanting, religious ceremonies and food banks opening - it would take years for her city to gain back to its former glory. In a way her people, both the city folk themselves and her women of the Gilded Lily, were resilient, yet they had all suffered in the horror. She had tried to lead them to victory, but in part that had been a failure. Tylmerande was still held by the Brotherhood, despite the plans to liberate it into itself as a city state. The Brotherhood still existed, even if Shinsou had given his word of loyalty to the Gilded Lily in a strange turn of fate. Things were strange, painful to think of, and breathtaking all at once. Life wouldn't be the same for some time.

But, as all things are - sometime needed to Skye that it could go on.

The faun Matriarch lifted up her chin and rolled back her muscular shoulders, By the door of the small but finely furnished study one of her five bodyguards, known as the Gilded Quint, or simply the Quint, had taken up residence. A short dwarf of a swordswoman: strong, proud and tough with the name of Gun'hildr. Upon seeing Philomel turn away from the window she stood up straighter, and gave a salute with her sword arm.

"Ma'am?"

"Where is Veridian?" The faun asked, speaking of her fox-form earth-spirit soul-twin.

Gun'hildr blinked before smiling slightly. "With the first interviewee, Ma'am. Taking stock of him or her."

Interviewees. Ah yes. Philomel had had many Radasanth residents coming to her in recent days, those who had lost everything. Some came to beg for charity, some wanted to use her influence. Others simply wanted a good word, or a place to sleep, or someone to sleep with (the latter Philomel could definitely arrange, the Gilded Lily as it was primarily based in brothels, even after years of expanding from a simple business). And more wanted a job. Thus, the Matriarch had set about using her contacts to set up aid and trust, her most loyal in charge of distributing funds. And Philomel herself …

Why only the most promising would be brought to her. For an interview of a life time.