[/html]She did not really want to go. The cottage was familiar and beautiful and perfect in all the little ways that she was sure only she noticed. In the mid-summer morning, the weather was crisp and pleasant. The partly cloudy sky kept the sun at bay outside, and the breeze weaving in through the open windows kept the air in the house moving. It rustled the leaves on the sprig of mint flowers that sat in the living room, and everything was just the way she wanted it to be. She had no particular love for Thornloe or the inhabitants there, but they were not members of Thornloe. They were a perfect little family at the top of a gentle hill, and she was sure that leaving would not improve upon anything.
Cassandra had never known her mother, so of course she could not miss her. Her father was not perfect, but it was so clear that he tried hard, and she found it easy to forgive what needed to be forgiven. And so, she supposed, that was why she was leaving. The albino girl would leave her home because she had been given the choice, and she would choose not to be left alone.
She folded the last blanket and packed it carefully in the canvas bag. There was room left, but what else to bring? There were dozens of things still in the room, of course, but if the essentials were done, how was she to choose between the rest? Standing, she surveyed the room, but felt distant and unfocused. Books were heavy. Pointed tools needed to be carefully wrapped, as did quills and ink. How long would they be gone, anyway? Footsteps coming into the cottage came as a welcomed distraction, and she turned around as her sister appeared. "We have some room left, but I don't know what to bring," the girl said quietly. "What do you think?"
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