Isabella couldn’t help but to adore about all of the questions that Mary was asking; the elder sister trying her best to stop the smile from widening on her features.

“It depends on the cafe, Mary,” She went to explain, going to find a spare piece of paper to sketch out some of the sweets.

“There could be macaroons, scones, muffins…” As she spoke, she did a quick doodle of what each food item looked like. “Buns, cupcakes, cakes… Many things. If we go there one day, it’s okay if you’re confused. You’ll learn quick - I know you will.”

Big blue doe eyes look over the sketches done hastily, as she sits back on her heels. “Can you tell me outside world stories?” she asks finally, moving to grab a crayon that rested by her sister's knee.

Truthfully this was her favorite game, though she guessed it couldn’t really be called a game. She wonders if Isabella misses it, her home, her life. But figures maybe it isn’t her place to ask, as the person who kept her here.

A small hand clutches a doll by its arm, walking along the halls of her home. She hadn't seen anybody in sometime, no spirits wandering the halls, nobody had come through. It was these times that she really grew lonelier. It gnawed at her, so many days passing, so much time crawling by at a snails pace, drawing, and sleeping. She was grateful it didn't happen much, she was happy that it wasn't so bad, but at these moments, she really resented her situation, her Papa, the world.

╰  ☾  ☆ * : ･   ⁞    —     ˗ˏˋ                 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 … 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍. The lack of an EXIT save for the door they had come through only deepened the child’s suspicions that the two of them had gone the WRONG WAY. Nothing more in this room save for some CREEPY paintings.

             A sideways glance was traded towards ONE PAINTING in particular. An odd painting; one that unsettled him more and more as he looked upon it. The painting itself looked much like that of the ladies scattered across the gallery. Yet somehow … the image that the strokes of the paintbrush had created was far, FAR more eerie than the others.

            He couldn’t say he was cultured or well - versed in the fine arts. If one were to ask him to name a single artist, he wouldn’t have been able to. The majority of his life was spent AWAY from the higher classes. What he did know was whoever painted that certain painting had INCREDIBLY poor taste. Did that painting have to be so scary looking ?

            And then … IT MOVES.

            Before the child even fully registered what he was witnessing, a hand tugs upon his own; hurriedly pulling him away. His own eyes remained glued to that CREATURE within the painting. Was that his imagination ? Paintings can’t MOVE, right ? He couldn’t be sure … but he shared those SAME bad feelings as the girl.

            ’ … Yeah ! Let’s go ! Let’s try another way. ‘

            Even as he followed the girl, he kept looking back … just to make sure that painting didn’t move AGAIN.

Her dark blue eyes trail over to him as she takes in his look of pure horror. She almost feels, bad. Chase him to the ends of the earth? Sure. Subject him to the horrors of her home? Yes. But a part of her feels guilty for subjecting him to something, not from here, not in her control, not on her side. And, now she was really starting to regret her choice to put herself in the lions den with him. She should know better than to mess with things beyond her control, if she lives, she's going to get a lashing from a particular red draped woman.

A giggle left Isabella’s lips, the woman going to make her doll act the movements of walking. At Mary’s question, she paused and hummed.

“What other stores out there…” She repeated quietly, bringing her spare hand to her lips as she thought. “Well, they could always go to a cafe, or to an art supply shop, or even gallery or supermarket…”

“Oh, maybe they could stop at the cafe.” She hums. “What kind of stuff is there?” A tiny voice wonders aloud, and sets her doll down, pondering the question. One of the greater mysteries of the day.