All dressed up and nowhere to go but into the suburbs. It had once been a dream of Poe's to walk these streets free and familiar, to raid the most interesting objects and toy about with them at home. But too much of a good thing becomes routine, and this night gave her little thrill, only a lazy sense of chore. She was running low on lantern oil, which meant that a house owned by an elderly human was the best bet. She had learned how to evaluate the types of people that may have lived in these places with trial, error and time, although the blanket of snow muffled many of the qualities she now kept an eye out for. The wide-based historical dress that she had taken from a museum (and put on from the hip-down, leaving the bodice and arms to hang apron-like) cleared a swaying path down the middle of the street, marking which houses she had chanced, and made proof of her failure as it continued on.

The sun was sinking low and fading the sky from blue to green to yellow, like a streetlight's warning of the ensuing red that, if lantern fluid was not found, would end her quest. With this raising up from the sweeping, tiptoeing thoughts of her mind, she scanned the houses that presently surrounded her, and chose one with dull, lacey curtains behind the dirty windows. One hand lifting a handful of dress from off the ground, the other clutching a lifeless tin lantern, she took measured steps through the thick snow across the lawn of one ghostly-dull home.