Val’s mother had become more aggressive. Val used to just walk around the house and do her own thing as her mother sat in the bedroom, but she can’t do that anymore. Her mother has become territorial. Val fears stepping into the living room, and uses her bedroom window to leave the house. For meals, Val just accepted whatever her mother tossed into her room once a day, if she remembered. Val couldn’t go out and get any food herself. She had no money, and the little--quite little--amount that was still left of her father’s was in her mother’s possession.

Val decided to head out her window. Her mother was making a lot of noise in the living room, and she couldn’t stand it much longer. She lifted up her window. Tiny shards of glass dropped from its cracked surface. Val kicked them away. She climbed up on the window sill and jumped down into the garden. Her feet landed in a sea of dandelions. The garden was flooded with them. Her mother used to try and keep them under control, but now she had no care for their spread. The field of dandelions reminded Val of the iris. She lifted her scarf--she rarely took it off now--and looked at the petal her father had sewn to the inside. She hadn’t been able to water the iris recently. It was in the living room. She knew her mother wouldn’t water it, so it likely would wilt. Val lowered her scarf and went somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but home.

When Val returned to her room through the window, she noticed a glow from beneath her door. She cracked the door open and peaked through. She saw her mother standing in the living room. The furniture had all been pushed to the walls and stacked atop one another. On the floor in chalk, something had been drawn. It looked similar to the diagrams Val had seen in those books her mother had got scammed into buying. Candles were lit around the drawing, and her mother held one too. Her mother was saying something. It just sounded like gibberish. Val felt a cold breeze--no, a gust come through the door. The wind seemed to be filling the entire room. The curtains waved about and her mother’s dress billowed. Val started to question whether those books were really just a bunch of junk.