She wasn't with the others. She'd never been one much for drinking alcohol, or smoking, and her way of calming down as to go for a walk in the gardens, while cradling a mug of hot, honey-sweetened tea. Good Sir Morgan... panic would not encourage the rest that his soul deserved, nor would it aid any of them in their self preservation.
She felt a sort of coldly logical realization settle upon her, feeling akin to the hand-knitted shawl that she always wore over her shoulders.
Her hazel eyes had settled, for now, into a murky, olive green shade, and her jaw was grimly set. Having reached the wrought-iron bench in the middle of the garden, she cradled her tea closer and sank down to rest thereupon. A passing wind chortled by, fluffing at her shoulderblade-length, auburn hair like a kitten would play with a ball of string. She raised a hand to brush her hair back out of her face, distractedly, and furrowed her brow.
Someone had to fill Sir Morgan's shoes, but whoever the elected might also be facing an equally-gruesome death sentence. She'd heard whispers about Undisclosedtoyou being the popular choice, and she'd found herself fond of the young lady in recent times. On the one hand, despite her shattered trust in everyone right now, she knew that 'Dis' would be a strong, stable individual despite the crisis. They needed that, but...
No. She must not base her decision upon who she was more afraid to potentially guide to their sacrificial altar. They were all in danger, after all. "I'm sorry, 'Dis'," she very-softly whispered, "this is for all of us."
With that, she rose from the bench and meandered her way back to where most of everyone were gathered. There, she would cast her vote for Undisclosedtoyou, as well.