With the slow creep of familiarity came... a kind of not-restlessness, a feeling that made Amicia step out of her bedroom with a growing regularity.

Not often, and not far. But still. It was a Sunday, morning even, and she was back in the common room.

She had a bowl of oatmeal, this time. It was tolerable, and familiar, and that was all she cared for.

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