Beatrice nodded in thanks for the offer of the open door, so to speak. The two exited the kitchen and as they crossed the foyer once again, Beatrice could not help but feel overwhelmed. The magnificence, the grandeur, was simply not something she sought after in her daily life. She did not go without as a child, but she also did not want for much. She was happy to have the things she did and to desire more seemed exhausting.
There may have been voices in the distance of the house but Beatrice was thankful that she thought no one other than Madison. When they got to her door, Beatrice had a strong urge to reach out to the stranger once more. She flinched momentarily before stuffing her hands into her pockets. It had occurred to her just then that these were the only clothes in the room. Suddenly, she was quite thankful that this was not the day she mucked horse stalls.
"Thank you, Madison," she began with a slight stammer in her voice. There was a desire to express more gratitude. There was also the building sensation that she would soon begin to cry. Even as she almost moved to hug Madison, the real person she wanted to hug was nowhere to be found.
And so, she would retreat into to pseudo-safety of her bedroom, under the watchful eye of unknown monsters. To hide from said monsters, she did what anyone would do: kicked off her shoes, climbed back into bed, and pulled the sheets completely over her head.