Someone gently tugged at the hem of her clothes.
Vanessa lowered her head and saw Alice sitting on a little stool beside the dining table, looking up at her with an awkward smile.
"You're... awake."
"What happened..."
"You... fell asleep," Alice said, struggling to put her words together. She pointed a little finger toward the kitchen. "...Dorothea... bought groceries!" In the kitchen, Allen was busy amid the steam. He turned at the sound of her voice and gave her a slight nod.
"We... cleaned the house..." Alice looked at her earnestly. "Vanessa... you need to clean... your home more often!"
"Home..." Vanessa repeated softly. The word held an unfamiliar warmth. She slowly looked around the shabby house, now tidied up and filled with the warm aroma of food. Flames danced in the fireplace, and the children's playful voices filled the emptiness.
Was this what home felt like?
She had grown up in an orphanage. To her, the word had been a vague imagining, never anything with a tangible shape.
The food was ready. The orphans gathered around, and Dorothea put down her novel. Everyone bustled about, bringing every stool and chair they could find to the dining table.
"Allen's cooking is good."
"Actually, Win... actually, Alice can cook too. Let her try next time..."
"Try this. I made it. It's my first time cooking, but I used a recipe I found in the library, so it can't be too bad... How is it?"
"...Dorothea, your top priority right now is to make absolutely sure the Mourning Poetry Society never finds out you can cook."
"Huh? Is it even better than theirs?"
"They'd think you'd desecrated the sacred kitchen."
"..."
The house was full of laughter and cheerful voices.
The fire crackled. Steam from the food mingled with the children's laughter,