The Golden Swan was nothing like the Pleasure District.
Marissa's first, most immediate impression was one of clean, quiet, and expensive taste. Where the Pleasure District had been a pit of noise, smoke, and the smell of stale beer and desperation, this establishment was a sanctuary.
The air was light, smelling of citrus, sandalwood, and expensive, fresh-brewed tea. A single musician sat in a far corner, not on a raised, gaudy stage, but on a simple, low platform, his fingers plucking a soft, intricate melody from a lute. The floors were polished, spotless wood, the walls were covered in pale, cream-colored silk, and the few patrons—all of them looking more like wealthy merchants and quiet nobles than drunken gamblers—spoke in low, respectable tones.
