I get the nursery.
It's sweet, right? Except it's inexplicably the coldest room in the house. And the attic door is in here with me. It won't shut all the way.
Beatrice sleeps in here. She says the ghosts don't like her, but they are nice to her anyway. Their faces are half happy and half sad. Their eyes are sad. They talk to each other, but not to her. I've heard them.
I shall conduct a proper blackout.