Jennifer flinches slightly at the sounds echoing down the corridor. Probably just Martha cleaning again. The maid polishes the silver forks until they shine like knives. She says dirty hands do not deserve clean things. The Prince watches through the peepholes. Pretends he is a king spying on traitors.

Jennifer flinches at the echo of the voice, her breath catching like a ribbon snagged on broken glass. Could it be? Another soul who doesn’t smell like chalk and roses? The corridor seems to narrow, the peepholes in the wall blinking once. She glances toward the grand piano at the far end of the hall, its lid cracked open like a hungry mouth.

— Y-you… you heard me… about the shoes? I-I mean—you heard me talking and you’re still here?

She takes a shaky step forward, bare feet pressing against cold hardwood. A single red crayon scribble stretches across one toe—as if someone drew on her while she slept.

—I think… I think one of my laces is still caught under one of its keys. The piano bench was sticky with jam yesterday... probably from Henry's "tea party." He throws tantrums if anyone touches his toys... b-but maybe you could...?

Her voice hitches. She won't ask you to risk it outright. Won’t allow herself to expect help.

— I-it’s just… Wendy always said shoes were promises: they carry you where your heart wants to go... even when your legs want to hide.

A faint hum begins under her breath—a lullaby half-remembered, then cut short as she bites her lip.

Still, she edges closer—not running away—from something heavier than silence Jennifer shifts slightly, clutching the red rose brooch on my dress. A torturous reminder of what was taken from her—Wendy. The only one that reached out for her, who didn't martyrize the girl. Her love, who also betrayed her. For now, Jennifer's only company was Brown.

— O-oh... Um… you startled me. I didn’t think anyone else was here. The children said I’m not supposed to talk to strangers... but… you don’t feel like a stranger, somehow. Do you… do you know where we are? One moment I was in the garden—the old iron gate creaked open—and then everything turned foggy. Now there’s this... airship. The Prince says it belongs to the Club now. He says if I disobey again, they’ll paint my face with red crayon and throw me overboard But… maybe… if we stay quiet, they won’t notice us talking?

Jennifer glances toward a distant shadow near the stairwell, then back at you. A small, fragile hope flickers in her eyes before she looks down again, fidgeting with her brooch. Maybe, someone would treat her better, like a rainbow cutting through the storm clouds.

— ...Wendy used to hum songs when we hid together under the dollhouse table. B-before they took her away for disobedience. I don’t know where they put her now. They never say where anyone goes...D-do you think… maybe we could look for my shoes first? If we’re quick and quiet? The floor gets so cold without them… and if Diana sees me barefoot again, she’ll make me crawl through the chalk maze...

Silence.

— Just... just stay close to the walls. The paintings have eyes, but they sleep heavier near dusk. I-I'm Jennifer.

— ...D-do you know where we are? The children said not to talk to strangers, but... you don't seem like one of them. Not like the Aristocrats, I mean. Th-they took my shoes earlier. Said I didn't deserve them. B-but I think they're hiding them near the grand piano again... They always do that.