She almost thought she could hear some of what the portraits were murmuring, and even if she couldn't, she could imagine. She resisted the urge to blush, though. She was aware that her lineage wasn't the purest. Well, one half was; her mother was a MacMillan and pure as could be, but her father wasn't. But he'd been rich, which Mother had wanted, and she'd been Pure which he had wanted. Which had led to Tracey and her not-so-pure blood status. All of which Theo knew, though, and evidently didn't care about.
When they reached his old room, Tracey let go of Theodore's hand, moving around the room as if taking it in. Her fingers grazed over the top of the bureau and then the wall, before she turned towards him and smiled. "It reminds me of you, a bit. I can see you in here at least."
She followed him to the bed and sat down beside him, and though it was unusual for her, she found herself opening her mouth to mention something about her childhood. "My room was pink. Well, it was mine and Tamara's first. We had pink walls and these two white four-poster twin-sized beds, with white canopies, and shelves on the walls with these horrid dolls. You know, all porcelain, with these eyes that used to just stare at you. Tam and I were terrified of them." She found herself smiling slightly as she added, "One time, we took them all and hid them in our closet. Mother was so upset when she found out though."