Snippet #2681272

Jane pulled the blanket closer around her and smiled. "Thank you," she murmured to Phil, but was distracted by the newcomer - Dr. Clef - and his ukulele. She wasn't sure how seriously to take him. Killing ninety-nine people? That wasn't something of which Jane would be proud, but then it sounded like he came from a very different world to Jane's. There were moments when Jane wouldn't have minded changing reality, but she had never heard of a creature that could do it. It made her nervous.

One of her shoulder blades began to itch and Jane shuffled on the chair. Perhaps the brandy hadn't done as good a job at settling her down as she had thought. She felt strange again, unsettled, not at home in her skin. The itching on her shoulder became more intolerable and she chewed her lip. She didn't want to scratch it: it reminded her of memories of dreams -- dreams from when she was a child -- in which feathers would sprout from her skin. She shuddered and focused on Phil and Clef, the itching beginning to abate.

She watched Phil pull out the drawer and tried to work out whether the length of it was a trick of the eye or an enchantment of some kind. She smiled slightly and realised that despite her mother's fear, she wasn't worried about magic -- if that's what it was. She didn't feel shocked by it either; it just felt... normal. Perhaps that was wrong. However, Jane just watched Phil at the cabinet, finding his sure movements comforting, particularly next to the strangeness (at least, in her eyes) of Alto. She wanted to close her eyes, but didn't feel comfortable enough with Clef there. Instead, she ran a finger along the spines of books beside her. So many stories and worlds and lessons, too many for Jane to ever understand.