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There is a calm, mellow feel to the manor tonight. Maybe it is to do with the weather, it has been drizzling for hours now, or maybe it is the late hour. Maybe it is just her. Alone in this grand home, this wide estate, feeling small yet so big all at once. It is as though no one else exists. She feels get thoughts stirring, yet finds herself having articulated only a few lines. Stirring, slow and quiet like the curtain of the open window behind her. The rain has shrouded the moon, so her only source of light remains the lantern by her bed-side. She has lay for hours on this bed. It is spacious enough for five of her but not enough to accommodate her mind. She has written a few more lines; the scratching of quill on parchment fills the room. Fades away. It is quiet again. Her mind is quiet too. Though the thoughts have not disappeared. She sighs, a deep, whispering breath, puts her quill down, and lays her head down onto the pillows. There are more pillows than one would need. More than one could want. Yet her bed seems empty. She shifts to lie on her stomach and rests her head on her diary. It is still open, the quill still between its pages. A few more lines. The page is nearly full but her mind is yet to be empty. The tip of the quill remains at the beginning of the next place. While it appears still and calm, there is restlessness. She closes the diary, her eyes too. Sleep will come, though her thoughts shall never die.