Mori let the silence settle and carefully bent to put a hand on the trunk. He was rather glad the Tailor hadn't opened it. The girl inside hardly looked a girl anymore, even wearing her favorite dress, curled and carefully encased in cushioned silk. It would've simply been distressing, even if the removal of organs kept her from rotting. As well, it was better for her body's continued preservation that the seal remains airtight. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," Mori whispered. "You'll see light again. I promise." And the trunk was carefully moved back to where light couldn't reach, where the cold and dark could keep her safe.

Mori moved through to the kitchen, stuffing that dull pain down deep in his chest. He put a hand on the Tailor's shoulder, a silent gratitude, a few seconds to let it rest.

"You are welcome to the cake, though I do pride myself in being a semi-decent cook in the least. Acceptable enough. And I was thinking, over breakfast, we might discuss our plans for next week, should you feel comfortable doing so." The implication was there. 'I intend to follow your song. I wish to talk it over with you.'

Meanwhile, Tularemia, shaking off sleep, found her way through the crack in the brickwork and on to the streets of London.