The tiny Forsaken woman sits hunched over in the lamplight at her desk. Her quill scratching over the page in her journal, other books and papers lay scattered over the desk. She would consult one every now and again before penning another bit of text. Mio’s brow furrows as she concentrates on the bits of research she was trying to commit to written memory. Muttering to herself once in a while as an idea of some sort seems just out of reach. Her research on the plague and its cures had not been going well. When she was an Apothecary there was little trouble in her work, now though she was more circumspect in what she did, how she tested, and it slowed her down.