Buri didn't recognize any of the patrons of the place, but they all shared the pale skin, extravagant clothing and arrogant bearing of the wealthy. He didn't notice a sign outside the building, either.
The girl led them up three winding passages and stopped outside an ornately carved wooden door, covered in carved floral patterns. She sharply rapped thrice on the door and then drew it open.
Within was a large room drenched in dimness. Heavy curtains obscured the windows and let in only enough light to see by. The smell of roses hung thick in the air. When their eyes adjusted to the lower light, everyone could make out the figure hunched over an earthenware trough that held a row of flowers. At first the figure seemed very old; the back was bent, and its movements as it pruned away with its gardening shears were slow, methodical. But at the sight of the group, it straightened and was a porcelain skinned woman.
Her face was smooth and ageless, and pitch black tresses tumbled down her shoulders, down her back to her waist. She wore a light blue toga and no jewelry, and her lips were red as blood. The most striking thing about her however, were her eyes - so light as to be an almost colourless blue or grey.
"Welcome," she greeted in a throaty tenor, "I heard that some among you were the ones to catch the murderer?"