The Resplendent Stars slowly adjusted its angle beside the coast.
The paddle-wheel devices along the hull gave a low, mournful groan as the ship began to pick up speed, steering into that boundless fog.
It moved faster and faster, farther and farther, until the silhouette finally slipped completely out of Duncan’s sight.
He stood at the prow of the Lost Home for a long time, staring toward the direction where that shadow had vanished into the thick mist.
Even after it was no longer visible, he kept looking in that direction for a long while before he finally withdrew his gaze—and saw the gothic doll in an ornate deep-purple dress standing at his side.
The doll was looking out as well, and almost at the same moment she pulled her gaze back.
The plump white pigeon had settled on Alice’s shoulder, cocking its head and staring at its mistress with two little, beady green eyes.
Quiet had settled over the Lost Home.
There was no more Sherry and Nina’s bickering, no Morris staring out to sea or bowing his head in thought, no Vanna perched on a barrel carving talismans, and none of Agatha’s strange, sudden appearances in odd places—on the broad, empty deck, only the captain and the doll stood together.
And that abstract, gluttonous fat pigeon.