It had begun no less than three months after Fallow had passed on. Shortbeak had continued her work, just to keep her mind off of things. She almost didn’t notice how Amelia confined herself to her room for all hours of the day, the sound of bubbling liquid and the whistle of steam from her contraptions audible from everywhere in the house. She ignored it at first, thinking it was just her way of coping, like how she turned to her work, growing more distant, cold, and brusque in her dealings.