I spent the next few days in recovery. When I was up to walking around, I found that Georgette was not the poor woman that I had imagined her to be as my Madonna. Her estate was not as big as mine, from what I could see, but it was still quite impressive. It was in much finer condition, at least. I found Georgette fussing over something in another room. I wandered into it, squishing my toes into the plush carpet as I walked.

It must have been the master bedroom for its finery. To the far right, a grand four poster bed stood in the corner of the room, angled away from both walls. There was a door nearby that must have led to a bathroom. To my near left, in the corner, were two large bookcases, lined with collectibles and old novels. Sitting invitingly next to them were overstuffed armchairs, just off from a grand fireplace more central to the room.