Time. She didn't have much of it. While her focus was momentarily on the trade, her battle was being fought elsewhere; in her mind. The Lovitarian had fought hard to contain her wants and needs, a long battle that was shaking her to her core. Behaving. It was not of her custom. Pretending? It was to an extent. She'd long sought to wield her whip against fresh cold skin, a tremble or scream of fear being produced in response. She long sought to find a temple of her own, a shared common interest in something, anything that didn't have to do with drugs and undead.
To control her mind, Phrixus developed the blueprint she'd considered for the top part of L'Obsul into a more readable structure. She started the work on the renovations, currently focusing on where the bath house was sketched into her notes. If to see her, it's common she wears nothing but a small piece of cloth to cover her breasts, the heat of the work load obviously evident in the sweat that forms down her body. Her back would be covered in scars, burn marks, and some pieces of skin still unmarked. She seems to find no reason to hide them while she works in L'Obsul, though.
A shovel usually in hand, she can be seen dedicating most of her time to this area, and if anyone was to offer her help she'd most likely take it. When she is done, she leaves via portal, and would return for the same routine the next day.
