Observing all of the squalor was a small figure, no doubt a child by stature and countenance.  While she herself was to be considered very well a part of what would be an upcoming insurrection, the cloaked adolescent merely bided her time on the lap of the safest wench she could hire.  She was used to pillows, but in a place akin to Myrskyburg, she figured even defiled flesh was less ridden with all manners of plagues than the surfaces she could sit or lie upon.

With eyes as red as a coal in a furnace, Khadila Usksha had surveyed the patrons filling up one by one, crying out the same lament in hushed whispers :

"Begin again."

It just came to mind that for her, her beginning was where they went wrong.  It just came to mind, then, that perhaps before she was born, there were better opportunities...

...perhaps it was what these downtrodden mongrels wanted, or if they spoke truthfully, there would be a profit to turn in this upcoming attrition.

God forbid she would grow up to be the latter-minded.