I am so distraught by the window that I do not notice the floor board's creak behind me. The wood floor has always been ruff and scratchy against our bare feet, it lost its luster long ago. Doll has approached me; I can now see her reflection in the glass when I look up. "Rose?" She asks, thinking I know something I do not.

I quickly shake my head, I can see the dread fall across her features.

"It will happen, Fox," she tells me. Suddenly she so much older than she really is. "It will happen to us all."

By autumn there is no change. Rose is still alive, sequestered in one of the hot bedrooms on the top floor. We hear no news of her, which strangely gives us hope. "Maybe she'll make it," I hear Moppet whisper to Doll one evening when the weather starts to turn cold.

Doll has no empathy when she replies, "Maybe she won't."