A hand reached out and pulled her from the metaphorical tunnel she'd found herself in. London inhaled sharply at the contact, determined feet slowing. She blinked hard, one hand coming up to cover her eyes. She shook her head.
"I just-..." What was wrong? Tons of things. She needed to be strong for her friends but, of the entire group, London was likely one of the weakest in constitution. She knew this and knew it well; London never handled stress well.
Then another hand, this one on her opposite shoulder, began shepherding her back the way she came. Part of London wanted to protest; insist on going to the library because if they didn't,
if she stopped walking, nerves might root her to the floor and make her a statue. But she didn't have to stop walking. Could just follow Kindall, whom she realized was herding her once she lowered her hand, wherever he went. Wherever the group went. She could just simply exist, running on auto-pilot until they made it home.
Something struck her, then - cutting through the melancholic haze of stress and tense shoulders. Ana had a bird. A
bird. Salem's mother fucking
bird.
As though burned, London ripped away from the two with wide eyes.
"What doing- no, can't- that thing-... Ana, that really does not seem like the best idea," she said, eyeballing the bird. Recognized the name from Poe's work immediately, an even worse sense of foreboding washing over her. In high school she'd studied Poe and, as such, knew most of his more popular works like the back of her hand. Finding Lenore... did that mean they were destined to spiral into madness, questions forever unanswered? Probably, if they didn't make it back home to acquire PTSD. Frowning, London stepped away from Ana, Kindall, and Lenore.
"You should put that thing down. Out of here. Away from us," she said.
"Away from your face, Ana."
Despite their rocky friendship, London felt a surge of protectiveness fill her to the brim. She'd never been particularly good at interacting with animals - there was always the chance for a bite, a scratch, a painful peck - but Lenore seemed content in Ana's hands. Still, London did not like it. Not one bit. Resigning herself to Ana & Lenore Watch, London hovered at the short-haired girl's side as they made their way into Ella's bedroom. She didn't know what she'd do if Lenore attacked Ana, but she'd be there.
Entering Ella's room, London's jaw went slack; she'd never seen such an opulent child's bedroom before. Though, really, after the bath she should have expected as much. Things took a turn for creepy when the music changed and London saw what had Kelsey so spooked. One, two, three drawings, the last one depicting the monster Kelsey'd yearned for so long to find. So, when Kelsey sat down on Ella's bed to take five, London understood.
She made to explore - leave Ana behind - then stopped. Tentatively, London wrapped fingers around Ana's elbow and urged her to follow along, to stay close. Granted, there were seven people in the room now and Ana would likely be okay, but it'd only take one stray second for Lenore to peck her eyes out. Even Ethan and Jace couldn't cross the bedroom that fast should they need to, and they had the longest stride of all.
"Butzy..." London passed the notice board, filing the bit of information away. Peter was now Butzy, Polly now Sally - at least, until further notice. She'd update her cryptodex,
if they hadn't fucking taken everything. London huffed through her nose. Instead of linger by the drawings, London made her way over to the dollhouse and crouched, slowly, to look inside. If Ella was imaginative enough to draw Butzy perhaps she'd made play, too, and left some clues behind in the process.
Peering into the dollhouse London found it to be nothing more than a child's toy. Like all the dollhouses she'd seen as a kid - not that she had one of her own, that is - the house sectioned off into separate, half-open rooms. A mother doll stood poised in the kitchen; a father in the study; a boy took space in the library; and a little girl stood beside the window. Upon closer examination, London noticed another drawing like the ones on the notice board: Sketched in crayon, the four figures of the dollhouse stood together, unsmiling. Behind them in the background was Butzy, an ever-present figure, watching from a distance.
"...Creepy," London murmured, straightening. Aside from the drawing, nothing else of interest was in the dollhouse.