30th of Spring, 517
If asked, the con artist would never admit it, but she couldn't hold her drink at all. Yet she found herself in the Rearing Stallion, clutching a mug of ale with her head in her hands, and a glare towards the table. Roselina's eyes were bloodshot, with large bags underneath them, her hair was messy and untamed, and her brothers dagger was lay on the table, a glance shot towards it now and then by the woman simply to check that it was still there.
The grieving woman sat on a table alone, as far away from other people as she could, and seeing the state she was in they all generally avoided her. Good. That was exactly what she wanted, they weren't worth her time right now.
She hated the spring, when the weather, usually, melted the snow of winter and people seemed to be in a better mood. The brown haired woman hated it, she didn't understand why they all felt so happy. Spring was when her birthday was, Florian's birthday. It just reminded her of when he died, of when he was murdered. It made her remember the worst times, the days he acted awful towards her. When they ran away from mother and father, when she wasn't good enough to survive on her own.
Laying her head on the table, and staring at the drink she had just took a large swig of, she decided that she likely wasn't really surviving on her own even now. She hated it all. Most of the things she did were just because her twin brother would have done that, and in a way she had become similar to him in more ways than just appearance.
The woman hoped that no one tried to approach her, which seemed likely since she looked distraught and broken, and took another large swig from her mug of ale. Drinking didn't really help her, she could see that it wasn't working. Yet she was too upset to care. If someone she knew came up to her, she had no idea what they would say. For at least a short while, her usual facade was long gone, it was too stressful to keep it up in her current state, so she simply appeared as she truly was.