[The door is heavy wood; the walls inside are dark grey stone. There are little oil lamps all around, and a quiescent wood stove, and a wide glass skylight with no metal in its frame. The room isn't messy; it's neat but cluttered, two thirds dressmaker's workshop to one third actual living space. There are old-fashioned cloth-and-wicker mannequins in varying states of coverage; the bed in one corner is cover in stacks of fabric and bowls of buttons. There's a wooden drafting table with scraps and half-coiled measuring tape and pieces of embroidery. Aster's cage is in one corn, large and conspicuously modern by contrast to everything else, its door perpetually open. Aster shrills a few whistles in greeting, but decides that Ned's presence is permissible.
Marsh lets Ned in and herds him gently toward the chair at the table, pausing to rub Digby's ears. He takes the stool on the other side of the table and pulls a flower blossom out of his pocket, a hawthorn very slightly wilting around the edges.]
[Private] > [Spam]
Marsh lets Ned in and herds him gently toward the chair at the table, pausing to rub Digby's ears. He takes the stool on the other side of the table and pulls a flower blossom out of his pocket, a hawthorn very slightly wilting around the edges.]
What color is this?