The wanderers found the old ruins deep in the forest.
The cavernous structure seemed to them a palace. The central atrium was a corridor a dozen paces wide, with dry fountains in the center.
Wide alcoves, no two alike, lined both sides of the walls, and each member of the band scrambled to claim one as their own.
She chose one that still bore cheerful paint, lined with counters containing hundreds of tiny shelves long empty.
Her grandmother had taught her some of the old script, and she could just make out a sign.
Youth fades, but Beauty™ is forever.