Evelyn soon fell asleep in her rocking chair, food gone, crumbs remaining. Her quilt haphazardly wrapped around her thin frame. She was sleeping with her lips parted, a curl resting on her nose and the fire crackling faintly, it and the oil lamp flame the only lights on in the entire home. The book she had been reading had been precariously perched on her knee and it now succumbed to gravity and fell to the floor with a thud. A hiss of wind broke the peace of the room as Evelyn inhaled sharply through her nose, eyes wide as she blinked and looked around for what had startled her awake. Her eyes finally came to rest on the book as it lay on the floor, and she rubbed her eyes, tired. [b]”Well,”[/b] she sighed,[b] “Best I woke anyway.”[/b] She unwrapped herself and stretched, bare feet walking the cold wood floor to put on more wood to keep the fire on all night, and placing the book back in its place on a shelf. She took her plate into the kitchen, wiped it off, and then hesitated at the door to the bedroom. Her floral bed covers were made, lacey dust ruffle untouched. Everything looked positively perfect. And stark. And cold. She rubbed her arms at the loneliness before turning and going to her white chaise, grabbing the quilt once more on her way. She laid down firmly on the piece of furniture that was place just below a window bleeding moonlight into the room, covering up once more and drifting back to a dream state for the night.