I'm still a delight. [Almost as if he's aware of Dorian's thought, the smallest Prior reaches across for the bear. It doesn't seem to sway the memory that he finds it now a step up from where it should be, resting on an invisible knee. He holds it anyway, without taking it back from Dorian, simply addressing it as one would a peer. Then we are going to have an adventure on our own, he tells it, solemnly.

Behind him, Prior smiles.] Father left not long after this - for the best, I think, though I blamed myself for a long time. Mother... well, I'm fond of her, as one is of far off, unreachable things. A bird in a tree. The moon. I still have the bear.

[It's in an apartment in a New York swept up by the storm.]

Well, had.

[Strangely enough, parents like these taught Prior one of his favorite lessons. Maybe it's left him with low expectations, too, but he appreciates the good in flawed people more easily for having been raised like this.

But first we'll simply have to change those clothes! In a sudden flurry, eight-year-old Prior grabs the bear and darts back up the stairs.

Prior reaches for Dorian's hand, again.]

Want to see where the door goes?