So they were roommates. This is all we know:
The Sanguine Rose, and Szèrre, Who Cut the Sea.
When both were young and lacking coin, or foes
They shared a rat-plagued flat in Pirate's Quay.
Unhappy roommates, so the stories tell:
She was a fiend in anger, flush with steel,
And she, a sullen mess of salts and spells.
Their fights had rocked foundations on the hill.
No more than roommates. This, we know for sure,
For when they meet again, with bloodied blades,
They face across the front lines of a war,
And one devours what the other saves.
Their bodies, roommates in a common tomb
Speak not. Cannot deny what scribes assume.
Jenkins Rising 