"Enough. Did you get my things?" Crimson said wearily. The two changelings nodded and Façade handed over the satchel. She had very few actual possessions, nothing much she really wanted to salvage from her little ‘hole in the wall’ office at the guildhall, but the books were critical. She took out her old, weather beaten tome. It was small in comparison to the great works she had seen her mistress peruse from time to time, but it was hers. She briefly flicked through it, giving a noise of approval when she came across a spell she did not recognise. The small calligraphy with intricate, weaving strokes inside the black, curving lines unfamiliar. She gazed at it long and hard, committing it to memory once more where it fit snugly, warmly, like an old coat fitting about one's withers after being apart from them for far too long.