As expected, she'd received a handful of responses to her network post. And as promised, Theo had seen them, replied, and then packed up her kit to walk it and herself -- dressed as warmly as possible in a clean set of sweats, the legs pulled up to her knees to show off her ink-laced calves -- to the craft room on the fourth floor. This time she'd abstained from dragging her comforter with her, the movement and the sweats more than enough to placate her need for warmer weather. Once in the craft room, she took up her usual spot near a window, adding a sketchpad and some colored pencils to her growing hoard of creative items.
Seated with her back against the window frame, Theo started again to sketch one of the leafless trees outside, twisting some of the branches into new forms, creating an otherworldly picture out of the everyday just beyond the walls they were all enclosed in. If one were the analytical kind, they might see the tree growing on her pad as a cage, but Theo didn't know nor care where the picture would end up.
She heard soft steps announce another's presence in the craft room, but she was so swallowed up by the addition of a bird to the tree (there were none outside, which was somewhat strange in itself) that she gave no sign that she noticed their entrance.