Miranda is deeply, madly-- crackplottedly, but she doesn't know that-- in love. As she tears down the halls of the mansion in search of Lucivar or Hero or anyone else she knows, it would be most impressive if she didn't crash into someone.

(Continued from mysteriously frozen thread.)

"To save you, I would die. I would for all my life my soul and service pledge to you." She hesitates. "Is this the way to name it? Love?"

[Miranda is sitting on a windowsill, the curtains drawn so that she cannot be seen. She's still holding a bouquet she received from a certain gentleman. She's looking through the whole cluster, inspecting each bloom with fascination and a bright smile. One or two make her sneeze-- this may be what alerts any passers-by to her presence behind the

Drawn last night to the woods by Artemis, Miranda found herself, around sunrise, suddenly tiring as the pull to the forest faded and she realized that she had been out all night.

Now, with the sun fully risen, she may be found curled beside a tree, barefoot, her long hair in a tangle about her shoulders. She is fast asleep.

[The door to Miranda's room is wide open. Its inhabitant is perched on the windowsill, the window flung open and her legs dangling out. She is leaning out as far as she can, to best catch the feel of the snow. It is, perhaps, a somewhat precarious position, but she does not notice.]

[Miranda walks the mansion's hall slowly, and runs one hand along the wall as she goes. When she sees a door to a room that looks somehow interesting, or does not seem to be inhabited by anyone, thereby preventing intrusion on any who would resent it, she pushes it open and peers inside.]

[A week, or a little more, has passed. Miranda comes now to the house in the woods, to the woman with hair like hers, who has said she will make a dress. When she comes to it, she knocks lightly on the door, as someone or other has told her she must do.]