It was night, in a quiet inn in the capital, maybe too. Inside one of the private rooms, Dusteria sat on a worn-out sofa, arms wrapped around her legs, her chin resting on her knees.
She stared through the window at the night sky beyond.
Behind her, her father, the Baron, stood by the entrance, his arms crossed as he looked around the modest room.
His nose wrinkled with disgust.
"This place is ridiculous," he muttered, brushing a bit of dust from his sleeve like it was a disease. "For people of our standing, staying in such a... hovel, it's almost comedic."
Dusteria didn't respond. Her eyes stayed on the window.
The Baron sighed and walked toward the corner of the room.
"Do you think we'll ever recover, my dear? From nobles in a manor... to peasants in an inn, and we're not even the one paying our fees. But at least, in this Hell, we have the best treasure."
Dusteria blinked, slowly turning her head.
"What..."
