Vaughn doesn't mind this one. It's warm and desolate, comforting with it's dusty fray. And even if she knows that this place is miles and years away, it reminds her of home in a way that nothing has in quite a long time.
There's the lingering taste of a cigarette that's not Vaughn's mentholated brand. When she opens her eyes, she can still smell the visceral elements of carnival and prairie dirt. Hay and sugar, smoke and mirrors.
In the memory there's a fearlessness she understands, and a calm she'd never harnessed herself. Awareness of an ability that she'd didn't fully comprehend, and the knowledge that she couldn't handle it anyway. But even that is okay.
Brushed by serenity, Vaughn walked quietly to the guest room in an effort to avoid Ella until she knew that whatever this was, it was finished.