She shouldn't be in the warehouse district this late, but there is nowhere else to go. Not for this.

A small fire crackles in a makeshift pit, the heat of it thickening and building to a stifling degree in the tiny room. The building itself is old, abandoned for some time by whoever previously used it - most likely as a storage facility or small warehouse. Three windows line the far wall, each of them thrown wide to vent the smoke now curling up from the flame. A trickle of sweat crawls down her spine as she watches the movement of the smoke, her eyes illuminated by the reflecting flame. She sits cross-legged in front of the fire pit, a bag of jasmine flowers and poppy seeds resting in her lap.

She stokes the fire, setting the poker down next to her and whispering a prayer before tossing a handful of the flowers and seeds atop the burning coal. Her eyes close as she inhales deeply, taking in a lungful of the aromatic smoke. Her body sways side to side, her face sagging into tranquility as the effects of the smoke grip her.

The visions start slow, flickering and fading into images that flash through her mind like quick moving water, none of them lingering. A cracked, tarnished hand mirror. A viper, poised to strike. Charon crossing the river Styx, the water turned red with blood. Many more come in crashing waves that assault her mind, too fast for her to grasp at all.

With a sharp gasp, she jerks out of the trance, her face pallid and bright with sweat. Her eyes go to the fire, the smoke billowing from it now thick and wild, choking the oxygen out of the room despite the open windows. "That's not good," she murmurs to herself, her hands slowly uncurling from fists that she'd made during the strange, ominous reading. Little half moon cuts pepper her palms from the nails digging in too sharply and she rubs them against her jeans to wipe away the pooling blood.

With a groan, she climbs to her feet and crosses the room to stick her head out one of the windows, a cool blast of air chilling the sweat on her face. She inhales deeply to clear the smoke from her lungs, needing to clear her head to assess the visions that had come to her. She almost doesn't want to, unnerved by the heaviness she'd felt in them, the sense of danger as if a storm were hanging just off the coast and ready to fall upon her with all the force of a raging hurricane. The smoke itself had reflected bad things to come, stifling the air around her until it became difficult to breathe.

Something isn't right, she thinks to herself returning to the fire, collecting the bucket of water she'd brought with her on the way. She tosses it over the coals, fanning the air with her arm as more thick smoke rises up from the sizzling, dying flames. Setting the bucket down, she starts to shove her things back into the black backpack she'd brought, not bothering with the makeshift firepit. It had been cheap and easy to assemble, and she could always make another.

She slings the bag onto her back, pulling her damp hair up into a high, messy ponytail to get it off of her while her body temperature goes back to normal. Ducking out of the building, she heads back toward town - back to her apartment in River Dale - keeping to the small alleyways that cut through the warehouse district. It's a gamble, choosing to take the alleys rather than the main streets cutting their way through the district. On the one hand, she's less likely to be spotted in the alleyways.. On the other hand, there could be someone with more nefarious intentions than herself thinking the exact same thing.

It's a risk she's willing to take, and with a prayer to her ancient gods, she slips quietly into the dark.