• There was a moment of silence of staring at the closed door before Patrick turned back to Dormaline. He beamed at her. “Would you like any wine?”
    Dormaline was surprised out of her thoughts by this question. “What?”
    “Perhaps some tea, then?” he instantly asked next. He then added thoughtfully, “Now that I think on it, I don’t think we have any more wine…Well, have you had any dinner yet, my dear?”
    “Err…no thank you. I’m quite alright.” She fidgeted absentmindedly at one of her ruffles as the small young woman looked up at her cousin. “I ate on the air ship before I left for the train.”
    Her cousin smiled. “Then it’s off to bed with you.”
    Dormaline blinked. Everything he said was so decided and quick. It left her slightly confused. “R-Really?”
    “Yes! In fact…” He looked over at the clock on the mantel over the fireplace. “We’d all better turn in. Here, I’ll take you to your room.” He turned to his brothers, who were quietly muttering into each other’s ears. “Stop that and clean up the table. Then go straight to bed.”
    The two boys both sighed in unison. “Yea, right-o boss,” they snapped with obvious contempt at the thought of work.
    The orphan girl looked at them. How odd- did they always talk at the same time?
    Patrick Porter took a lit candle from an end table of one of the couches, and motioned Dormaline to follow him, while the twins got up and began putting all the cups and dishes onto the tea tray. She walked behind him, out of the parlor and into the dark hallway of the apartment. She expected her cousin to turn to a room on his side of the building, but instead he turned to the infamous right. The girl looked up at him and in the candlelight, her face was quizzative.
    He explained: “We’re a little tight for room for you, my dear, but we’ve fixed you a bed in the attic to suit you…just until my partner feels up to lending you a room on his side of the building. Won’t be long until he comes around, I assure you.”
    ‘I highly doubt that,’ Dormaline thought.
    The hallway was much longer on this side of the building. The mousey girl walked with her cousin softly in the protective glow of the candle, and as she passed by so many doors she found herself guessing which one was the hatter’s. For some reason, she had the strong inclination that it was the one where the obnoxious snoring came from. She frowned at such an arrogant man, and wondered if she’d have to constantly deal with his ridiculousness throughout her life here.
    The two cousins turned and went up a tiny flight of stairs at the end of the hallway. In a short while they came to the third floor, the basement. Its entrance was a padlocked door, which Dormaline found very odd. There was no lock on the door, and Patrick opened it with ease for her so she could step in with her suitcases.
    The room was dark. Dormaline was glad for her cousin’s candle, which gave a small light that created objects in the pitch black, though they were large ones that held no real recognizable shape. He held the candle and looked at his little cousin. That pleasant, reassuring smile of his was still on his face. “Be careful,” he said softly. “And please watch your step.”
    Dormaline nodded. She followed him through a winding path between random pieces of covered furniture, crates, and boxes. The girl looked up to the low ceiling and saw that part of the roof, on the side of the back of the building, a large window of black iron and filthy glass had been put there as a skylight. Yet the night sky, sadly, was so obscured by the fog and a blanket of clouds that no signs of the moon or the stars peeked through. Still, the young lady did like the idea of sleeping under a night sky and waking up to the morning sun.
    Mr. Porter finally stopped at her bed- a mattress on a rusty brass frame. It leaned slightly to left, with one of its legs was propped up by a dictionary sized book on the floor, and on it was a couple of pillows and a large, frazzled quilt of very eccentric prints. Circling the bed were pieces of worn bedroom furniture obviously meant for her to use: a chestier drawer, a vanity with a murky mirror, a closet, a chest at the foot of her bed, and an end table beside it. Unlike their towering fellows around them, they were not covered by white sheets, and were not as badly beaten up and weathered down as the other objects.
    As Patrick put the candle on the bed’s end table, Dormaline put her suitcases down beside the bed. She sat on it and looked curiously around. Well, she thought, it’s not all that bad. Could be cozier, but there’s not a lot to complain about. At least it’s temporary… Again, she found herself seriously doubting that.
    When she looked back at her cousin, he bowed his head to her. “I’ll leave you to sleep. I hope you’re an early bird- we have breakfast near dawn.” He smiled at her, and without waiting for a reply on what her sleeping habits were, turned and weaved his way back to the attic’s entrance and out, closing the door behind him.
    "G-Goodnight..." she muttered under her breath, even though he was already too far gone to hear her. She looked around her once more, and this time she felt alone.
    Alone, alone at last. Was she happy at such a thing, or did it sadden her? She didn’t try to think of this, until she had taken off her blouse and skirt and was left in only her camisole and pantaloons. She put on her white nightgown and, very quietly, sat in the candlelight. Something rose up in her chest, a feeling that she felt she was about to vomit, and she didn’t know why. Now the shock was fading away, and she was coming to terms with all the facts of what had happened after that fire and while she had been in this stupor for the past five days. She vomited pain.
    Her parents were dead. Her mother and father, Mr. and Mrs. Little, Lacie and Peter, mum and daddy…she choked, and put her hand to her mouth. Tears overflowed in her brown eyes. Oh god, she couldn’t stop. They were gone, gone gone gone gone, and she felt the blame and regret heavy on her shoulders. Why hadn’t she smelled the smoke? It was in her room first. Why hadn’t she gone back for them? Why hadn’t she cried out? Shouted, warned them, cried for her mother- why had Amah saved her and not them?! Why did the rebels do this to them- her family wasn’t to blame for this! Oh god, how she hated them- them, her loving Amah, herself, Chester Smith’s grin, that hatter, her family, her friends, the government- everything and anything, even the people in the world that had nothing to do with that night. She hated the World, and God himself. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair…her existence and their deaths just wasn’t fair!
    The girl, choking and sobbing and shuddering and crying, curled up in a ball in the bed and hugged her legs to her chest, trying to physically crawl inside herself and die…or just turn into nothingness. It was all too much. She wondered if she would stop feeling this pain. She didn’t care. She felt it, and it felt real and hot and it hurt so much that it oozed out of her nose and eyes and mouth onto the moldy pillow and the ragged quilt. She didn’t bother to wipe it away, and left it there to soak in. She didn’t care anymore.
    A sudden grunt and the sound of someone tripping woke Dormaline up. The first thing she saw was the dying glow of her candle. She hadn’t realized it, but she had been waking up and going to sleep crying this whole time, about three hours. The flame was so tiny; it barely lit the area beyond the top of the table the candle sat on. With the quilt wrapped around her shoulder, the shivering girl sat up and glared at the darkness to see the intruder.