Morgan
The wreckage of the Palace was quite a thing to behold. In some sick ways it was even beautiful, the remnants of the formed ice glinting in the cold Deepfrost sun, reflections blue and purple in the puddles of water that splashed under Morgan's feet as she walked into the debris. Looking for anything useful, anything worth salvaging. Anything in the wreckage that she could pull out and hold up for the crowds, say look, it's not all gone. There was plenty there, in the ice: boards splintered, left from furniture, bits of trinkets smashed beyond recognition, plants that might once have been important.
Standing where she thought the clinic might once have been, Morgan knelt, pushing aside the ice on the ground to see, against the likelihood, if there was anything there that could be salvaged and used in the oncoming weeks.
We knew that all this fun and games
Was another big fib to hide the chains
