Winnie's home

The talk of sampling her cooking had naturally been a joke.

Elliot simply wanted to stay in touch with her. The excuse seemed absurd, but in Elliot's experience, it suited his personality best.

Of course, if there really was good food to be had, all the better.

He had gained quite a lot today.

Elliot watched the carriage recede into the distance and quietly activated [Spirit Vision].

In his vision, everything remained calm in the direction the carriage had gone. Not a trace of supernatural light escaped, as though Flora were merely an ordinary person.

Yet during their conversation just now, when they had been discussing food and Miss Elegy had grown angry, he had clearly seen a few faint white motes of light escape her body for an instant.

She had to be the Supernatural person.

It seemed the Mourning Poetry Society was more than an ordinary secret society. It most likely had a Path of its own, and those rituals of eating raw flesh and blood might have something to do with some secret sacrifice.

But from his brief contact with it so far, it seemed fairly normal on the surface. That was good news.

Elliot considered whether he could control Vanessa's card and have her try to make contact with the organization, using it as a stepping stone to glimpse the supernatural world.

He wondered what these supernatural factions would be like.

Watching the mansion's gates slowly close before him, Elliot reined in his excitement, sighed, and turned to head back.

The road ahead seemed a little clearer.

Before long, he was seated in front of the Difference Engine.

His gaze fell habitually to the tabletop, and Elliot raised his eyebrows in surprise.

The card representing Vanessa was currently in the [Explore] slot.

And the exploration target was none other than-

[Mourning Poetry Society hideout]

After leaving the hospital, Vanessa hesitated for a while before deciding to visit Winnie.

She wanted to have a proper talk with Winnie.

One thought kept circling in her mind: was the bandaged wound on Winnie's wrist really connected to the Mourning Poetry Society? She needed answers, and she needed to make sure her friend was safe.

Winnie had told Vanessa where she lived, but the girl had never visited.

For one thing, their schedules never lined up. Winnie had to work during the day, while Vanessa started work at night.

For another... there was the shame of being short of money.

Winnie was always helping her out with bread, yet she could not even afford a decent gift in return.

Things were different now.

With a weighty sum of Leo tucked against her chest, Vanessa finally set off for Winnie's home.

The bakery closed on the weekly day of prayer. Winnie did not have to work that day, which was why Vanessa had come to visit.

Vanessa bought a small bag of fruit: bananas, her favorite oranges, and a few apples.

Fruit was expensive in the city, and she could never bear to buy any, but at the thought of visiting Winnie, she took out her Leo without hesitation.

Winnie rented rooms in a rather tidy, if not particularly new, apartment building along the street. The landlady was an elderly woman named Lynn.

Many young noblewomen whose families had fallen on hard times, or who had no relatives, could not find suitable marriages. The nobles willing to marry them were often after their dowries, while marrying a commoner would cost them their noble status-in the Empire, losing that status made it extremely difficult to hold on to their property.

This was even legal-under the Empire's "Limited Inheritance Law," if a female heir's marriage was deemed "improper," distant relatives could reclaim the family lands.

Thus, most chose to remain single for life, preserving what dignity they had left. When they grew old and frail, they would buy an entire apartment building to rent out. The rent would be relatively low, but tenants would occasionally need to help with physical chores.

It was an alternative way to provide for their old age.

Old Mrs. Lynn, standing before Vanessa, was one such woman. She spoke elegantly and even chatted with the girl for a while about poetry from the age of myth before the conversation turned to Winnie.

"Winnie is a good child," old Mrs. Lynn sighed softly, her silver hair looking especially soft in the light from the window. "It's just... she has such a hard time."

Vanessa paused, puzzled.

Work at the bakery was relatively easy. Did Winnie have another job?

Could it be...

The girl remembered the gauze on Winnie's wrist in Miss Crow's consulting room.

Something to do with the Mourning Poetry Society?

"Does she... have a lot of work?"

Old Mrs. Lynn shook her head. "No, she has too many children to look after."

Vanessa's eyes widened in surprise.

"You didn't know?" Old Mrs. Lynn sounded a little surprised too. "Winnie rents several rooms here! She lives with quite a few children. I hear they all came from an orphanage... Ah, poor children, all of them."

This...

It was the first the girl had heard of it. Winnie had never told her, even though both of them had come from orphanages.

Orphans she had taken in... Had something happened to her old orphanage?

Vanessa's memories of the orphanage had grown somewhat hazy. She only remembered that life had been hard, but they had scraped by without starving to death. That was already quite good.

Vanessa suddenly remembered Miss Crow's words. She, too, had told Winnie to get more rest.

The girl suddenly realized that she seemed to know nothing about her friend. She had naively assumed that because Winnie worked at a bakery, her life was a little better than her own.

The bread Winnie had given her had seemed like something she could "spare"... Now that she thought about it, Winnie might well have scrimped it out of her own meals and the children's!

Damn it, how had she failed to notice? Winnie was her best friend. Such a gentle person.

The girl's heart ached in painful spasms. Guilt and self-reproach threatened to drown her. She had Leo tucked against her chest, yet only now had she thought to visit, all because of that insignificant sense of shame.

How could she be so selfish, so oblivious!

"Which room is hers? I'll go see her!" Vanessa asked urgently.

Old Mrs. Lynn pointed upstairs. "The room at the very end of the third floor, but she isn't in right now."

"She's gone out?" Vanessa paused, then remembered the gauze on Winnie's wrist. "I'll go find her!"

She turned to leave, then remembered the fruit she was carrying and stopped awkwardly. "This fruit is for Winnie. Could I trouble you to..."

"Hang it on her doorknob. She'll see it when she gets back."

Vanessa hung the fruit on the doorknob as instructed. After a moment's thought, she borrowed a pen and paper from old Mrs. Lynn and attached a note: "Mrs. Lynn told me about you and the children. You can lean on me a little more. I'm always here-your best friend, Vanessa."

Leaving Winnie's apartment building, Vanessa headed straight for Rosin Alley.

She still remembered the Mourning Poetry Society's hideout. The house where people had shared flesh and blood was not far from number thirty-seven.

Winnie was not home. She might well be there.

Returning to the quiet alley, Vanessa looked up at the familiar house. The scene of climbing it effortlessly while under control last time was still vivid in her mind.

She rubbed her hands together and tried to climb onto the wall, copying the movements she remembered.