The drying blood on her hands reeks of iron and feels gritty now.  The girl's body's growing cold, and their only concern is for the club's reputation-- thus its ability to draw gold and influence-- and for their personal payrolls.  Is this justice in Firelight..?  Smirking assholes making private jokes over the corpse of a desperate girl who died for nothing--- nothing, after a life serving these bastards, hoping for freedom?<br/><br/>She'd work it out with Polette.  She would not stay in this town.  There are two ways out of here... to be the killer or the killed.  The only one who'd even showed a hint of humanity was Lita, ironically enough.<br/><br/>Realizing the futility of attempting to offer her aid, Dieza wipes her hands together and then instinctively draws them a little farther into her robe's sleeves to hide the blood.  She says nothing, only turns away and heads for the exits.