He was in so much pain. That, in itself, was nothing new to him. Angelo was no stranger to pain, both physical and psychological. Since his first breath wasn't that all he had known? Wasn't it all her fault? He had sworn to one day overcome his disabilities, sworn it to himself as a child and renewed that oath over the grave of his mother such as it had been. He had sworn to overcome them and to find the one who was responsible for all of this and visit his vengeance upon her. Yet, here he was, running through this strange city, fearing for his life. The occasional figure went past but none dared look at him. He caught brief glimpses of their features. A set of blue eyes here. A frowning face beneath demonic horns. A mask, split down the middle, one side frowning the other grinning. How had it come to this?

Of course Angelo could not remember the events leading up to his birth, or the birth itself, but his mother had told him as much about it as she herself had known. From what she had told him it seemed like some records had been misplaced, or something had been recorded wrong, or someone had just made a simple mistake somewhere and it had just compounded itself until it all culminated in one terrible fact: He was born. It wasn't until the birth itself that people began to realize something had gone wrong, but his mother said the midwife had recognized him for what he was immediately. His mother hadn't liked to talk about what had happened immediately after his birth. She had slipped once, just once, and Angelo had built a picture of it for himself. The midwife had tried to kill him, there and then, but his mother had stopped that from happening. She had scooped him up and fled with him, though how she had managed such a feat immediately after birth and with a room full of people… Angelo suspected violence had been involved. His mother had had her share of scars. That could have been why. He also must have inherited his own power from somewhere. While he had no formal training other than that which his mother had supplied, Angelo suspected he would have been considered a fairly powerful telepath and telekinetic. Maybe he had other psionic powers he just hadn't discovered, yet. He supposed now he would never know. He spun around a corner, leaning up against a wall with a hand to his side while he made an attempt to catch his breath. It wasn't happening, though. He could feel blood bubbling in the back of his throat with every breath he took. That couldn't be a good sign. He couldn't hear the footsteps approaching, his pursuers were far too good for that. But he could feel them, an itch at the back of his mind. He needed to move.

He tore down the alley as quickly as he could, which at this point wasn't anything more than a wincing stumble. After his mother had fled with him, that had been her life. She had been unable to remain in Sularia after what had happened. Especially not with him. She had abandoned her family, people he had never met and memories too painful for his mother to share with him, and left the temple in which she had been an acolyte before being chosen. She had taken what she could from her home and then they had run, and he was still running years later. How many years had they been running? He knew all too well how many years he had been alone, but before that? She had made sure to treat him once a year, telling him it was his birthday but he had always suspected the timing had been a little different each year. She had loved him, and had done what she could for him, but there was only so much she could do. As he had grown, and it had spread across his body she had been forced to spend more and more money on magic and potions to try and halt it, and medicines to ease his pain. Recently he had been forced to find alternative methods to accomplish that. Cheaper methods. There were plenty of opium dens if you knew where to look, and he had become an expert at looking for the signs and skimming the minds of locals. Maybe that was where he had made a mistake. He had become careless, he knew that. He had thought himself safe, though. He had never seen the invisible pursuers that his mother had assured him were out there looking for them. Tears stung his eyes. After her death he had doubted her, and this was the result of that. He wouldn't have a chance to apologize now, would he?

There was a gentle thump and something landed in front of him, perhaps sixteen feet down the alley. Beyond the figure, maybe only another few feet beyond it, there was the bright light and bustling sound that came from a main thoroughfare. They had been chasing him from the poorer part of the city in which he had found himself, all the way here. They had come across people before now, that was true, but in areas where people survived by seeing nothing. Twenty feet away, though, there were people who would take notice. There was no way they would murder him in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses. They would be forced to break away the pursuit, to try and find him later. He wouldn't have given them a chance later, he told himself. He had learned his lesson. But he had learned it too late. If one of them had gotten ahead of him then that meant the otherwise were nearby, or they were already on the rooftops, surrounding him. The itching at the back of his mind that would have told him was being drowned out by the thoughts hovering on the top of the man's, and he knew it was a man now, mind.

Just need to put him down… Nice and quiet… Dispose of the body… There's a courtyard… Not far from here… An abandoned building… Stage a fire… Stick around to make sure the evidence is erased… Her will be done.

Angelo found himself coughing back a sob. He wouldn't plead with them. He had tried that earlier and he knew he was dying already, because he had thought he could reason with them. He hadn't been paying attention to their deeper thoughts. He had thought he could change their minds, make them see him as a person. Appeal to them. They were relentless though. They had their task, which they saw as a sacred duty, and there was nothing he was going to be able to do to convince them not to see it through. Hindsight was always perfect, he supposed. He should have known that they weren't going to show him mercy, not after what had happened the last time they had caught up with him and his mother, because he knew now that it must have been them despite what he had thought at the time.

They had been in some city or another in Canelux, he knew that much for a fact because before his mother's death they had never left the mainland. Just travelling where they could by foot, finding the occasional traveler with a cart who was willing to take them in the back to their next destination. His mother had always insisted on earning silver honestly, taking jobs for work provided. There had been times when he had suspected the jobs she took were… Undesirable. But she had never complained, because she had been doing it to see him grow. Had she known he would grow into the man he was now, though? If she had, then why would she have worked so hard? No, she must have had some hope, and to see him like this she would be disappointed in him. He was a husk, the only thing keeping him from ending his life was the thought of ending another's. What hope had there even been of that, though, with his habits being what they had become? He could justify it all he wanted. It was all he could afford. It eased his mind and his body and allowed him to plan. Where had his plans taken him though? Right to this point. He spat a frothy pink glob onto the dusty floor between him and his assailant and grinned. Well, if he was going to die at least he knew this man would make it fast. It was more than could be said of what they did to his mother. Most likely it had been to discover his location at the time.

While his mother had been busy working hard, at that time she had been taken on as a maid in the house of a minor noble. The family had been on the brink of collapse so the pay was next to nothing and the staff had been minimal. Hard work for little reward. Angelo had taken to the streets in an attempt to make money for them himself. His mother had been nurturing his telekinetic powers, teaching him fine control over it. He had taken to finding other ways to practice it by himself. In the busy marketplaces it was easy enough to find those with heavy purses and relieve them of their burden. He had been saving, planning on scratching out enough to move them to a nicer part of the city and buy his mother better clothes. It would surely help her find easier work, if nothing else. He had been on one of his outings and returned home to find the door ajar and a light inside. From outside he had seen multiple figures, heard the sound of the little furniture they had being broken apart. He had tried listening in on their thoughts but had instead seen flashes, images of what they had done to his mother. There had been so much blood. He had fled, but not before hearing their plan to dispose of her body.

He had never visited her there. He had never had the courage to confront her. All kinds of scenarios had gone through his mind, the foremost being that someone had found out he was a thief and had done that in retaliation. He had briefly entertained the thought that it was their mystery hunters but had thought that was crazy. He had run, though. Run without avenging his mother. It had left him feeling sick. Pathetic. Inhuman. He supposed, though, that he had never been human had he? His mother was certainly no human. He had fled, though, and had looked back many times but never gone back. He had continued eking out a living by stealing from others. What other choice did he have, alone and looking the way he did? He had always gone about bundled in layers of rags, so nobody would ever see his face, his body. His curse. Nobody was ever going to hire him on for anything if they couldn't look at him. He had had too much pride to beg, or take the charity offered to him. He could pick and choose the people to steal from. The right people. He could hear their thoughts, feel their deepest desires. He knew their hearts better than they did, sometimes. He punished the ones who were impure. At times he had thought about taking it further. There were surely those that he had seen that didn't deserve the lives they had been blessed with.

There was the buzz of a thought from behind him and to the left, high up above. Someone there was preparing to do something violent, aimed towards him. He could feel their thoughts as clearly as if they were the arrow he knew they had aimed at his back. A snarl crossed his lips and he gathered what little he had left to give. He knew when the arrow was loosed and was able to spin to the side, swatting at the arrow with a blast of force that sent it skittering off down the alley to land at the feet of the other figure. When had he gotten so close? He was less than ten feet away now. Angelo had hoped that his blast of power would carry the arrow into the other figure's chest. Had allowed himself to believe that he could take at least one of the bastards with him. No such luck.

He had stowed away on a ship to Abed, hearing that the people here covered themselves almost completely with their robes and scarves wrapped around their heads. Why, if ever there was a place where he could live in plain sight, he had thought this would be it. What he had found was a lot different from the place he had expected. The heat was hard to bear, it made him feel sluggish. Complacent. He felt almost like he was withering away. His will to work had been stolen from him and instead he found himself visiting the dens, spending the silver he could steal on pleasant clouds of unfeeling. He had tried-

The figure was on top of him. Angelo hadn't even noticed him move. There was a slight pressure in his chest, but nothing more. The figure seemed to embrace him, lowering him gently to the ground. Before everything turned completely black, he had time to notice one last thing. As his vision closed in, like a dark tunnel was swallowing him, he saw someone at the end of the alleyway. They wore a mask, split down the middle…

Darkness took him.

Leandra had spent the day wandering the market place of Abed, identifying and pricing goods of interest to her. The woman had grown up well off, often eating fine cuisine with delicious spices, including those Abed was famous for. Just because she found herself a little less well off did not mean she had to give that up, she could come directly to the city after all to procure them. This practice appeared to be much cheaper than having them brought to you, even just having been in Iria. Idly she wondered if her family sent people to the markets or bought those from a traveling merchant, and which way would be cheaper. Well if her family would have kept her around, she could have done the shopping. Maybe she could still do that and pocket the markup. Shopping was an activity she found she enjoyed and though terrible with healing magic; she had a talent for some arcane arts.

Interest pulled from the market and her lazy musings; the woman was reminded this talent had been the problem. It was an odd spectacle, seeing the living become the dead. Seeing spirits had been what led to Leandra having to leave her former life, though the woman was no longer confident that had been a bad thing. She had rather been enjoying her freedom from family obligations, aside from the two she was still bound to; staying away and trying to learn to heal. Leandra knew that there where parts of the town that these sort of affairs were prone to happen, perhaps even being commonplace. But so near the market in the middle of the day, had the city become that bad. Glancing at the towers, Leandra wondered if this would get a reaction from the guards, and if so how it would be handled. Maybe Abed having sunk into a city of crime was why the spices had been so expensive.

Intrigued, Leandra found a tavern that offered rooms near the alley and rented a room. The woman would watch the spirit, and the aura's of the people around him from a safe vantage point in a room through the walls. Leandra watched the Aura's of the living move, likely lifting the now corpse that escaped her site; it's former aura now the spirt that had attracted her attention to this affair. Leandra had only ever seen people pass from old age or illness, never something this violent. Watching the living shuffle around was not exciting unless the guards moved to confront these individuals. Surely they had witnessed this from their towers; these killers had to be desperate or deranged if the guards were still present. No matter what happened with the living, Leandra wanted to watch was what would happen to the spirit. Leandra had not embraced her ability to see things other's did not for a long time, since, being labeled as potentially mad in her youth. Her parents had, encouraged her to keep up appearances, little slides could have her seen as being eccentric and add to her charm. Full-blown conversations, well they had led to an arrangement with her family to join a healing order. Which then coupled with lack of talent for healing directed to study as an apprentice to an alchemist.

Of course, those in the City of Iria, or at least the ones at the college, had been far more understanding of her eccentricities. Rather than attempt to cure her, they had been the ones to help Leandra understand that what she saw were spirits and aurae of people. That, seeing the spirits likely meant she has a knack for the arcane. It was trying to suppress the site while trying to use magic may have led to her not being much of a healer. Or at least this was the woman's interpretation of their musings. This realization had enabled her to understand her "condition" and be her to be free to do with her ability, and her life, as she pleased. She was rather fond of the spirits, as they had freed her. So the woman watched the spirit, wondering what would happen to the energy of a being violently cut down.

For a while he felt like he was floating, gently rocking in the absolute darkness that enveloped him, riding invisible waves. There was no heat or cold, no pain, no pressure. He just… Was. The feeling, or lack thereof, after so long was freeing. He would have sighed if he had the breath to do so. This thought didn't trouble him. He accepted that he was dead now, and if this was the afterlife then he could deal with that. He imagined closing his eyes and settling down as if to sleep, preparing himself for the rest of eternity.

Except, when he did so, an image appeared before him within his mind's eye. The image was clear. The same hated face that had been haunting him for so long. He knew that face better than he had known his own, not surprising since he had always shied away from his own gruesome reflection and the fact that vain as she was she had her unthinking lackeys display her image everywhere. There was a thrumming sensation that spread throughout his very being, whatever that was now. Anger vibrated through him, and suddenly he was sinking, fast.

He landed hard, in a sprawled heap. He groaned, bracing himself for the pain that such a fall should bring before his thoughts caught up with him. Important facts returned to him. He was dead, he was sure about that, had experienced it and still remembered it clearly. His body had no feeling left within it, for he had no body any more. Why, then, was he vaguely aware of arms and legs? Hands and feet? Fingers and toes? He opened his eyes, eyes that he should no longer have, and was greeted with nothingness. There was no difference between having eyes open or shut, save the sensation. Was this to be his new reality, then? Wandering throughout darkness, unable to feel, unable to see? He shrugged at the thought, something his living body would have done in a lopsided, painful way, but his current body did smoothly. Was it right to call what he had now a body? He raised hands to touch his chest and was surprised to find resistance, a firmness quite unlike that of his living body. He ran fingers over smooth skin, up to a neck, feeling a face that was nothing like the one he recognized. Well then, if this was the afterlife at least it came with perks. Eternity without pain, within a body that so far seemed far superior to his own. Again, he would have sighed if he had the breath to do so, but this would have been full of contentment.

Hello there, friend.

Angelo stood perfectly still, eyes darting to find the source of the voice. It was rich, cultured, the accent… Different from any he had heard before. There was a musical quality to it that at the same time intrigued him and set him on edge. He felt like he was being mocked and invited. He didn't like the feeling, but he didn't know why. At least he wasn't doomed to spend eternity alone, unless this was some divine judge sent to weigh his soul. He had heard some religions believed in such things, though he himself had spurned religion in life. Considering the circumstances of his life, who would blame him? Well, there was one person for sure, and if she did then the others would, which meant… He tried to swallow, but found he had no spit to do so. The feeling wasn't uncomfortable, just a lack of sensation, one he was adjusting to surprisingly quickly. His search for the source of the voice had of course been fruitless, either it was too dark to see or there was nothing to see. Though, if it was the latter then why did he feel like he had a body? A body that felt like it stood upon a floor? Inspiration struck him and he reached for the magic that had been nestled within his hideous mortal body. He didn't know much, but perhaps he could form a light?

There was a chuckling, the sound echoing around him, seemingly coming from all directions at once in an unsettling way. The throat that produced the sound could only be the one that had spoken just now, there was the same musical tone, the seem deepness.

My my, you adapt quickly, don't you? Let us help you.

A spark lit somewhere in the distance, shedding a gentle warmth on… Nothing. Angelo looked around, but everything was still dark. He looked down at himself, but there was nothing there. The light source was too far away, it seemed, for him to be touched by the light. That was the explanation. He took a step forward, and as he did the light moved further away. Another step, and the same thing. He tried to run, maybe twenty paces, but the light remained just out of reach. As he came to a halt the chuckling began again.

There there, child, wait just a moment.

Angelo stood still, waiting as instructed. Time stretched on and he had the feeling he was being tested. What was the test, though? How long he would stand here before breaking? Whether or not he would stand here? He thought about it, but at the end of the day it came down to one thing. He was dead already, so what difference did it make how long he stood there waiting? Closing his eyes, he let the darkness surround him again and waited, searching for that calm feeling he had had.

There now. I think you are ready for us to talk.

Angelo opened his eyes, slowly, calmly, no longer rushing. There before him, within the light, stood… A jester? He had heard of such people, seen one once traveling through a village he and his mother had spent some time in. That one had been dressed in bright motley, to catch the eye and excite the children and adults alike. This one was in blacks and grays, the pattern was familiar but the colours so muted. Was this because they were dead? Or, because Angelo was dead? He didn't believe that to be the case. He looked up into the face but instead his eyes found a mask, one side silver and set in a frown, the other golden and smiling. Something about the mask caused an itch at the back of his mind, there was something about it…

Ah, my child. Your life has seen you suffer through much, hasn't it? Why not step into the light, talk with me a spell?

Angelo was distracted from his train of thought. Gingerly, he took a step forward, but this time the light did not move. His hesitation did cause the motley figure to chuckle again, though.

He doesn't trust us….

The voice was different from the first… There was an almost feminine edge to it. Angelo stopped, but the figure before him didn't move or speak any further. He considered retreating back into the darkness, forgetting this encounter. He could go back, he was sure of it, to just floating.

Oh child, if only they would let you. There is only so long that darkness can distract death, no matter how well they are acquainted.

He could almost feel the smile in the figure's voice, as if he was making some kind of joke. Angelo had no idea what that joke was, though, and found he had come to a branching path. It came down to the same thing though. He was already dead, what was left for him to lose?

If only the child knew what we knew….

Angelo went to hold breath that was no longer there and stepped forward into the light. Nothing happened, no pain, no magical sensations. He was just stepping into the light. He hadn't thought about it before, but his movements were so smooth, so polished. He looked down, and was surprised to see a well muscled, tanned body. He ran his fingers over his skin once more, eliciting more chuckles from his companion.

See what could have been, child.

The figure lifted a hand as he said this and a mirror appeared before him. Angelo stood, speechless, as he beheld the reflection that stood before him. The face was handsome, the body lean and attractive. Completely alien to the body he had once known, though there, around the eyes… Yes, there were hints of the face he had known, and shunned. His fingers were tracing the lines of his cheekbones, tracing around the eyes and up into the silky brown hair which hung down to his shoulders.

This could have been, should have been you, if not for… Intervention…

The image before him changed, warping into that much hated face. Angelo's vision burned and before he knew what he was doing he was swinging a fist at the glass, aiming for his rosy lips. He sought to destroy, but his fist passed through nothing.

He hates her too… Almost as much as us…

Yes, he does.

Angelo stood, feeling like his chest should be heaving with ragged breath. But of course, it never would again. Because of her.

Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that, my child. We can help, as it is not yet too late to scoop you away from death.

Angelo stared at the figure, the harlequin standing still with the mask staring right back at him. He couldn't see any eyes within those dark holes, but he could feel them. "For a price?" The question didn't cause the chuckling that he had expected it to.

Oh my child, there is always a price, no matter how I wish there were not. For you, the price shall be all that you are, your mind, your sanity, your soul. Even then the chance you will get your revenge is slim.

The voice seemed full of sadness and regret. Angelo faltered, unsure. Out in the darkness, lights began to shine, illuminating an image. It looked like a rose bush, with one bright red rose at the top. Vines, lit unnaturally from within, descended from this first rose, spreading out further and further, touching upon hundred, thousands of others. The lines that spread did so unobstructed, save for one branch. One branch twisted with another, and another, their vines crossing, the light that had shone becoming sickly. It ended with a blackened rose. Angelo's eyes burned with tears he didn't have. One by one, the roses above were cut away, falling to the floor, dead. Angelo's eyes burned as the last two fell.

"What do you ask of me?"

The darkness overcame him once more when they were done. He didn't want to trust the strange figure. There had only ever been one person he could trust. The promises he had made, though. If they were true, he could make it all right. Or if not right, he could correct some of the wrongs. It wasn't going to be pleasant, the figure had been honest with him about that. The initial sensation and what was to come next. Angelo had been warned that if he chose to do this, then he would end up regretting the decision many times. He had been warned a second, and a third time, that he may never get his chance. The hatred was a burning coal within his chest, though, something he had felt even in that world between. It had been enough to see him agreeing, to hearing out what was to come. To making a deal. There was the sensation of him falling… Upwards, at incredible speed, and then sudden unbearable agony.

For the briefest of moments he was back within his own body, dead yet feeling every one of his wounds and his affliction. He tried to scream but he had no air within his lungs, no way of drawing breath to do so. He immediately regretted his decision, sobbing within his own mind, begging to take the choice back. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be stuck within this body, trapped, feeling everything but unable to move. The bastard had tricked him. Somewhere, deep within his mind, was a familiar chuckling, following by a wrenching sensation that saw his consciousness torn free from his body.

What came next was… Indescribable. It was similar to the floating feeling within the blackness, yet at the same time, entirely different. He was floating, outside of his body, watching as his murderers used tools to dismember it and stuff the pieces into sacks. The agony he had been feeling, he hadn't realized at the time what he had been feeling. Everything had felt so wrong after the peace he had felt. It was sickening, a sensation he could still feel, it seemed.

Do not linger, child. She awaits you nearby, and here is your anchor, your way of remaining.

Angelo, with some determination, was able to turn his consciousness in the direction he thought the voice was coming from. There was a brief flicker, a shadow, but there was no dark jester stood there. Upon the ground, however, there was a sack cloth doll. Angelo hesitated, for a brief second, and then with sheer force of will he moved himself over to it.

Blackness surrounded him once more and all sensory input with it. There was no feeling, no hearing, no seeing, no smell, no taste. He could not move. He was… Trapped. The only thing he could appreciate about this was the fact that there was no pain. Had he taken too long? Was he dead again? No, this felt different from before. He tried calling out, but was unable. He tried moving. Nothing. He screamed for what felt like hours, but nothing happened. He was trapped within his own mind. Or was he?

Calming himself, he reached out with his mind, and found he was surrounded by others. He could feel so many of them now. There was the feeling of joy as he skimmed the mind of a child, sadness from a woman who had recently lost her husband to war, hunger from rats, so many of them hiding close by. He had been told to look for one mind, though, one particular mind. That of a mage, trapped within a life she didn't care for. He had been told she would be nearby. He had been told her would know her when he found her. He skimmed through the minds of more people before he began building himself a mental landscape, placing the minds and their relative distance, and those of people he could feel but had not touched. There was indeed one that was different. He reached out for it.

"Help me." He sent to her, sending her an image of the alley, the doll, and a sense of the fear he was feeling.

Leandra’s eyes narrowed as the words “Help me” invaded her thoughts in a voice that was not her own. The woman frowned as she was filled with accompanying images of a doll in the alleyway. Sighing the woman guessed roughly where it would be, her suspicions confirmed. It seemed the spirit was now in a doll. Had she done that? Leandra knew that in her youth she had at times successfully bound spirits to her dolls so that they could play with her. This was, as a matter of fact, how her condition was originally found. It seemed maids did not like it when dolls sprung up and moved on their own and people, in general, did not like it when spirits were bound to things.

The spirits had always been willing to play with her and left when they wanted to. Did they really think a five-year-old girl bind spirits against their will? Of course, they had decided Leandra was possessed, which is why the toys floated. She had been subjected to an exorcism or two; apparently, she was demon free, or at least supposed to be. This idea gave the woman no comfort. Leandra had figured out not to bind souls to things, to stop the praying and religious rituals. Of course, the damage had been done, her condition was often thought to be residual insanity from the time she was possessed by a demon. If there had been less “damage” it would have just been a heart wrenching story of the sufferings of child. But no, she was crazy or an easy mark for demons, so needed to be sent away to join a church to be constantly in a place that could keep the demons away.
Angry at her parents she decided she would go collect the doll, no matter if it was her own fault or not. Leandra could understand being misunderstood and feeling helpless, besides it would kind of be nice to have a “friend” again. She could take. Him? Yeah, that seemed right, him, with her back to Iria. If he needed help moving on someone at the college would likely be able to help him, and Leandra would have done her good deed for the year. Could even be something she wrote to her parents about that even though being a devout healer of an order had not panned out, she had helped a trouble spirit rest.

The living beings seemed to have moved on with the body so it should be an easy enough task to take the doll back with her. Decisions made the woman left the tavern and found the doll in the street. “All right, how is it you want me to help you. Your killers seemed to believe you dead and are dealing with your body, what are you so afraid of” Leandra matter of factly asked the doll. She did not have the patience for a guessing game.

Of course, this is when the previously good for nothing guards decided to step in. Woman, what did you do to that man, did you turn him into a doll? We got made aware of a disturbance in this ally way One of them so impolitely asked her. Leandra spared them little thought, haughtily staring through the guards rather than at them. “If you were told of a disturbance and just investigating that, why would you assume there was a man, and at that, assumed I had harmed him, then transfigured him. Surely from your lofty towers, you saw this poor soul get murdered.” Leandra's words dripped with cynicism at their actions and filled the air with her indignation.
The guards tried to talk to her more or ask her more questions, but Leandra felt like being no part of it. She was not going to stick around to be investigated or testify as a witness, Leandra knew they had seen the event, probably more clearly than she had seen it; besides maybe the soul thing. If they had wanted to wait for an outsider to be in the area, they likely had nothing good planned for her and she was not playing the game.

Gathering her power, she coated herself and the doll in it, transporting them away to a safer place not bothering to have a clear destination in mind. She would gait travel from wherever they ended up, she was not going to open a gait and risk being followed, so as anywhere safe would do there was a much simpler spell to rely on anyway.