o.n.e

[tigerhound]

[An open grimorie, of battered leather with a bone clasp, records a sharp gasp as Sandrine wakes up.]

[She didn't remember going to sleep, she certainly didn't remember going to sleep someplace this fancy. This immediately puts her on her guard, and she's shifting out of the bed with a rustle of sheets and a light padding of worn shoes as she's going around to check the room. Her main concerns are whose room is it, where is it, is there anything she can use in it, and can she get out without anyone noticing? It's not until she finally stops and pulls a curtain aside to look outside that she realizes she's quite a bit more lost then she originally thought.]

This isn't Boise.