CHAPTER 12 - A RAILWAY STRAIGHT TO HELL
A list of things in Ringo's room:
One door, one large window, with a space underneath for sitting or holding stuffed animals and dolls.
One bed, one main desk, a shelf with a variety of old tomes and novels from the last few decades, inherited from her grandmother.
Some pencils. A stick of charcoal. Two boxes, with miscellaneous things in them. A variety of notebooks with things scattered all over them, but they mainly contained knowledge of the general kind. Medicine. Sewing. How to steep the perfect cup of tea. Cooking—with altercations. Basic physics. Essentially, multiple two-in-one academic studies and survival guides.
One closet, with a limited amount of clothing items—but only because she didn't wear much aside from a few select things. A small brown bag hung inside.
Several hours' worth of theories on lined paper pinned to the walls. Recently added, on the side with the singular pictures of Raffina and Amitie, lay what little she know of the ghost girl in the handbag named Raina, claiming to be the Duchess, or something. And to that section's side, everything Raina knew about the world while she was around. Something about a girl in red, the archmage Accord, and being forced to learn magic.
A nightstand with a candle. A cup for water, in case she got thirsty at night. A flower vase with fresh carnations from the Wilds, in an assortment of pinks and whites.
The journal that listed all her encounters with the dark shadow.
Now, it had started to include Ecolo, too.
