Amelia was sitting on her haunches, back facing the door. Nothing was out of place. The room was as Shortbeak remembered it, as untidy and chaotically organized in such a way that only Amelia could possibly know where everything was. The stillness and wrongness was heaviest here. Amelia’s claws were outstretched to a corner of the room that had been cleared of everything, a strange words were clawed into the ground at her feet, incomplete symbols and nonsensical, mad writing criss-crossing sentences and pictograms covered the floor. There was no sound. She could not even hear Amelia breath. Nothing. “Amelia?”