I growl and lock the bottle in the cupboard. 

I sew until the sun is long forgotten, until my candles sputter down to stubs. Until my head flops around like a homespun doll's, until the night is silent as a cave. Even my rats are asleep.

Done with Loony's gown. Cutting the pieces for Moody's. Tomorrow is the ball. What time will it be? Seven? Eight? I can't remember. The stitches are blurred and I can't bring them into focus. I prick my finger with the needle again and suck a drop of blood into my mouth. It makes me thirsty.

My body slides out of the chair. Fine, I'll take some magic. But just one spoonful. I have to keep sewing.

Four tries before I manage to aim the key at the keyhole. I droop against the wall and fill the silver spoon. "Awake," is all I can say. I'm almost too tired to swallow it.

The warm sparkles sink into my body, then rise up through my head. And I'm awake. Not bouncy or cheerful, but I can think now. And sit straight. I pick the pieces of Moody's gown off the floor and flop into the chair again.