[ Well, when the grown woman has no legs of her own (nor hands, nor eyes, nor anything), desperate times call for desperate measures. Though she's heard it's plenty nice, the new space really is of little consequence to her, even if her special tree the teenage boy in question had constructed had been destroyed and burned away. It was the thought that counted, and no good thing could ever last. Now, with the apartment empty save for her, the Crystal is tucked away, beneath the coffee table rather than on it in the event they were ransacked again. ]

[ Waiting as she is, Sandra catches the click of the lock and creak of the door long before the hums and mumbles reach her through the quiet house. That lonely fellow with his well-strung vocal cords found his way in after all, though she'll at least wait for her Marco to cry Polo. He should know the living room is where she always ends up. ]

If only life would be so riveting. [ It's on a facetious lilt that the ghostly figure appears, hovering cross-legged over the table, greeting him with a grin and a fan of her fingers once he draws near. ] You know, perhaps in the future, we ought to always ask for the key upfront before we go dangling you off the side of a building. This has been so much easier.