After ascending the right staircase to the second floor (as to avoid the blood trail that dripped down the left) she had quickly swept through a hall with holes battered into the walls and splintered remains of a destroyed banister strewn about the floor. At least one resident or servant thereof had been battled their assailants. Most of the guest rooms had been untouched simply because they held no real valuables; Lord Armon didn't want his finery 'wasted' on rooms that saw so little use. Vanity urged him to keep his jewels on display where he could more easily admire them and himself.

Lights illuminated as she walked through the beautiful room with hardwood floors and lavish rugs depicting one of many worlds conquered and colonized by the Empire. Solae unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it as it fluttered to the floor. Undergarments were shrugged off and unclipped after she pulled her torn blouse over her head. Rather than depend on Mia she slipped into the large shower and manually adjusted the controls to spray her with the hottest water she could tolerate without scalding. A mesmerizing display of lights accompanied the blast of steam but the heiress was could not find her spirits lifted by the ambience they created.

Solae knew there would not be time to properly mourn or grieve the lives lost. Here in the shower, however, she was protected and alone. With the knowledge that the room had been soundproofed, and Rene was too far away to hear even if it was not, she slid down a slick mosaic wall and sobbed. The marquise wept for Marlene, who was spoiled but did not deserve callous murder, for imperfect parents that she knew had been executed, for innocent staff in the Imperial Embassy and the 'Rat Trap' who had committed no crimes except seeking employment. Every tear was carried away in the cleansing streams.

Until she saw it swirling on the floor of the enclosed chamber Solae had not been aware how much blood had been on her. Some had been her own but most had been from sprays of co-workers, from landing on a corpse, and crawling through the debris of the ruined embassy building. The rinse ran pink, speckled with flakes and crusty globs of crimson, until several minutes had passed. She washed the stain out of her golden platinum strands and scrubbed it off her skin. A few areas burned despite a more gentle touch. Both knees were raw and covered with abrasions, the right slightly more pitted than the left. Walking barefoot over the terrain had left her with cuts, three splinters, blisters, and the side of a toe scraped from a rock that had removed the topmost layer of skin. Considering she had escaped being killed by heavy weaponry these were minor and a small price to pay. The gash near her hairline the left side of her forehead proved to be the worst wound she bore. Solae dared not touch it directly- she had clenched her jaw in pain every time she tried- but she was fairly certain a medical professional would recommend stitching the sides together.

Crying had unloaded only some of the emotions that had accumulated in the last day but she felt lighter than before. The accommodations were opulent but they could not afford her the luxury of time. Dwelling on the anguish the rebellion brought would not help her survive. Solae dissociated from the trauma as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself. She did not let her mind wander back to the the horrific event, instead mentally carefully boxing the memory and shelving it to revisit a later date.

"Mia," she called out as she looked towards the mirror. A faint yellow glow appeared in the center as a visual cue that Mia had been appropriately summoned. "Does Lord Armon have any women's clothing in storage?"


Mia had salvaged the undergarments with startling efficiency but Solae knew the blouse and skirt were a lost cause. Repairs could have been made but a skirt was impractical at best and the silken shirt was not made to endure. Unfortunately Lord Armon had no paramours at present and thus no women's clothing much less anything in her size. Out of desperation she had a men's shirt, clearly too large for her frame, over exercise shorts Mia had affirmed no less than four times were unused and clean.

"If you want to take a shower now I can wait to eat with you," she suggested affably. As ravenous as she was she did not want to be rude to her savior; Solae was incredibly aware of how in Rene's debt she was. Her hair was still a wet curtain of shimmering unnatural aureate coloration that was loose in hopes it would dry quickly. "I had to improvise," she immediately explained, slightly embarrassed at her state of psuedo-dress.