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And then she woke up, in the tavern in Apulus, which was already a pretty serviceable imitation of a mid-grade Tassato inn, if a little gaudier in decor.
She considered desperately writing some things down, but they were already slipping away. Had she really traded the briar's restless bound from one project to another for an appreciation of profit and luxury? She definitely remembered the insistent call of her 'anointing', the embarrassingly Highborn ritual she'd improvised from the promptings of the mask, the Varushkan sailor saying, "You don't trust other people much, do you?"
...should she, in fact, consider trusting others some more?
In any case, she should see about breakfast. She picked up her embroidered dress and looked at it sceptically - it was definitely less densely patterned than the skirt from the dream, all black from the back, as if she was still feeling slightly Highborn when she bought it. It was definitely better than her white lacy nightclothes, though, so she put it on anyway. Bag, cloak - she'd had a better cloak in the dream too; hat - even though the Leaguers looked at her funny for wearing it indoors, it was her Recognisable Object and while she wasn't at Anvil, she still wanted to be findable if necessary - and stick.
All prepared for venturing outside the bubble of private space she'd paid for, she went to open the door, but instead found herself pulled somehow sideways...
