The rain is forced to look longingly into the warmth of the library as it pours down, unable to penetrate the windows. To the rhythm of its pattering, a solitary figure waits at one of the northern table nooks, humming something to herself. The sound carries oddly in the vast but crowded chamber. Crowded with shelves and literature, that is. A silver platter of bread, wine, and some bits of smoked meats remain on the table, untouched, awaiting company. A secretive smile draws Rowena's lips to one side. "A woman's eye is always more keen when it comes to aspects of the soul."