Trinket gave the woman one of her dresses and tossed her old, wet clothes over the sink in the washroom. The woman was about the same height as her but a little more bosomy, so the dress was a tad tight in the chest.

"You must be exhausted from everything that's happened," Trinket said as the woman adjusted the skirt of the dress.

The woman looked up and gave a smile and a shrug.

"Would you care for some tea?"

She nodded, and Trinket led her out of the washroom and down to the parlour. Motioning to the settee, Trinket said, "Please, take a seat here. I'll be back shortly."

She hurried off to the kitchen to put together a tray of bread and cheese to go along with the tea and then quickly brought it to the parlour. She found the woman sitting on the settee, gazing about at the finery surrounding her. It made Trinket remember when she herself had awoken in that same room to a strange doctor mending her leg.

Placing the tray on the table, she offered some tea to the woman, which she accepted with a grateful smile. Trinket sat beside her and watched as she tried to figure out how to drink the tea. It was clear her tongue's condition was new as she tentatively sipped the tea and sat there for a moment with the liquid in her mouth. Slowly, she tipped her head back and swallowed, though it looked like a struggle. She coughed a bit, but when Trinket moved to help her, she shook her head and gave a strained smile.

Settling into her seat, Trinket picked up her own cup and eyed the woman. "Are you from around here?"

The woman shook her head.

"A local town then?"

She tipped her hand back and forth and made a face.

Hesitating, Trinket cleared her throat before asking her next question. "Please don't take offense to this, but are you a night flower?"

The woman laughed and shook her head.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to insinuate anything. It's just that there have been some incidents here in the city involving bodies of women with additions much like your own, and there's a theory that they may have been involved in something like trafficking."

The woman gave a smile to reassure her that she had taken no offense.

"So how did you end up on this madman's operating table?"

Sighing, the woman placed her cup on the tray and drummed her fingers against her lips in thought. Finally, she turned back to Trinket and patted her chest, right where her heart was. Then she raised her hand up, her fingers positioned to resemble a gun.

Trinket squinted at her, trying to deduce what she was saying. "You were shot in the heart?"

The woman shook her head.

"You shot someone else in the heart?"

She waggled her head back and forth before dropping her hand and waving dismissively, returning her attention to her tea.

"No, that's fine. We all have our secrets. Pasts we'd like to leave behind. Honestly, we're mostly interested in what you can tell us about the man who performed this surgery on you. Do you know where you were when it happened?"

She shook her head and offered an apologetic smile.

Trinket sighed. "Well, that would have been too easy, anyway. Mr. Larkin doesn't like it when things are too easy."

The woman grinned and took a slice of bread. She examined it nervously, as if she wasn't sure how she was going to eat it. After a moment's contemplation, she pulled off a small piece and pushed it into her mouth. She chewed it for a good, long while before attempting to swallow. This time she did so without coughing, but it still seemed like a bit of a struggle. Clearing her throat, she turned to Trinket and shrugged.

Trinket smiled. "Do you have a name?"

The woman raised an eyebrow at her.

"Right, silly question. Who doesn't have a name? Although, to be fair, 'Trinket' is not my actual name. Mr. Larkin gave it to me when I refused to tell him who I was. Some of us prefer to leave everything in the past, including our identities."

The woman gazed at her thoughtfully.

"But that's just me. Anyhow, what is your name?"

Opening her mouth, the woman took a staggered breath before clamping her lips shut and furrowing her brow.

"I can get a pen and paper if you'd like to write it out."

She thought for a moment, and a smile slowly spread across her face. She placed her uneaten bread on the table and pointed at Trinket.

"Pardon?"

She pointed again.

"I don't understand."

Once more, she pointed at her and then to herself. She raised her eyebrows, as if it were obvious.

"Oh. You want me to give you a name?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Are you sure? It's really not a requirement. I mean, Mr. Larkin does insist that his patients provide a name of some sort, but I think he would make an exception for you considering the circumstances."

The woman shook her head and pointed at her again.

Perhaps this woman had an identity she wished to leave behind as well. If that were the case, Trinket could not fault her for that. "Very well, I'll see what I can do."

Looking about the room, she hoped to find some sort of inspiration. She'd never had any pets as a child, and with her condition, she hadn't thought to dream up names for her future children, seeing as she didn't think marriage was even an option. She'd had dolls, though. Had she named them? Yes, she had. What were they called?

Closing her eyes, she traveled back to her room. Not in Elysium, but in her childhood home. She ignored the memories of disembodied voices and her mother's cold glare. She saw her bed, piled with the blankets she would hide under in an attempt to escape from the screaming inside her head. Sitting by her pillows were two dolls. They had names. She knew they did. What were they?

Her eyes shot open. "Daphne?"

She turned to the woman who tilted her head slightly and cast her gaze upward, letting out a hum. Then her eyes crinkled as she flashed a big smile and nodded her head. She put out her hand to Trinket. She took it, and the woman gave it a hearty shake.

Laughing, Trinket tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear nervously. "Well, then. Shall I show you to your room, Daphne?"

~

After helping Daphne settle into one of the guest rooms, she returned to the kitchen to boil another cup of tea for Booker. She tossed some bread onto the tray in hopes of tempting him to eat something of substance and then made her way down to the laboratory.

Booker was again hunkered over a workbench, bolts and gears scattered over its surface. She placed the tray on his desk and brought the teacup over to him. He accepted it without a word, taking a sip while gazing down at what he was building. It had yet to take real shape, so she wasn't sure what it was.

"Have you ever seen aquariums?" he asked her, his eyes still trained on his work.

She shook her head. "No. I didn't visit my neighbors very often, and my family did not have one."

"They're large glass containers reinforced with metal so that they can hold water and house fish and aquatic plants. They're a bit of a novelty for the gentry, bringing exotic wildlife into their homes."

"Like flying squirrels."

"Correct. My idea is inspired by these habitats." He pointed at his drawings. They were of cylindrical objects connected to metal rims. "See, this glass part here can be filled with water, which will keep the gills constantly hydrated. It attaches securely to this metal bit here, preventing the water from leaking out but also allowing the removal of the upper half in order to tend to the gills and replenish the water so that it doesn't stagnate."

Trinket's eyes widened as she examined the complexity of the device. "Amazing."

"However, seeing as the gills are not on a flat surface, I'll need to attach the metal rim to a piece of metal that's molded to her neck, so I'll have to do some measurements on her first."

"She's resting in bed right now, but when she wakes up, I can bring her down here."

"Very good." He got up and made his way over to one of the shelves, retrieving a small container. He opened it up and scooped out a strange-looking powder, which he stirred into his tea. "Did you get any more information from her?"

Trinket watched as he added another scoop of the powder before taking a sip of his tea. "What is that?" she asked.

He glanced down at the tea and then the container. "This? Oh, nothing really. Just a little concoction I whipped up a few years ago."

She approached him and picked the container up, sniffing at the contents. It smelled like Elysium—like drugs and chemicals. "What sort of concoction?"

"A combination of several drugs and flowers. It helps me stay awake. I take some every day, but for emergency projects, I take an extra dose. Like when those ridiculous lovers were here."

Pushing the container away as if it were poison, she turned to him. "I thought you said you didn't partake of such things."

"Opium. I don't partake of opium. This is completely different."

"It doesn't seem so different to me."

"People like Grace take opium to escape from reality. I take this to help me create masterpieces that can save people's lives."

Shock spread throughout her body. She glanced back at the container. "At the risk of losing your own?"

He scoffed. "My life is not at risk, Trinket."

"How are you so sure? This isn't some normal drug. It's an amateur mixture."

His eyes darkened. "I am no amateur."

"How is this any different from Emma's elixirs?"

"It's very different."

"How?"

He heaved an impatient sigh. "Because I am a trained doctor and she is a shopkeeper. I know what I'm doing. She does not."

"Even you said useful drugs can kill."

"Only if used improperly."

She swallowed as her stomach churned. "I don't think you're using this properly, Booker," she whispered.

He opened his mouth to object, but he hesitated as he caught her gaze. Her eyes stung, and she was surprised to find that she was holding back tears. She quickly turned away, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Trinket, I know what I'm doing," he said softly.

She gave a sharp laugh. "That's what every doctor in Elysium believed."

There was a long silence, and when she finally turned back to him, she saw pain flash through his eyes. "I'm not hurting anyone, Trinket," he said defensively.

Sighing, she let her arms fall to her sides. "You remember what I said, don't you?"

"You say a lot of things."

His bitter tone cut her to the core. Brushing past him, she made her way towards the stairs. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "You hurt me when you hurt others."

"I told you, I'm not—"

"You're a smart man, Booker. I think you know what I mean."

He closed his mouth and clenched his jaw but did not speak another word. Trinket ascended the stairs and returned to the safety and comfort of the kitchen where she boiled more water to make a cup of tea for herself. But her hands shook as she tried to drink, splattering it on the table. She placed the cup back on the saucer and ran her hands through her hair.

Had she been out of line? He was a doctor. Perhaps he did know what he was doing. And she was a little hysterical when it came to drugs, considering her history with them back in Elysium. But something in her gut told her that what he was doing was not safe. He was playing with things that would surely come back to bite him. The memory of his dilated eyes and disconnected gaze the night Alice's bone had broken through the skin resurfaced.

Perhaps not all drugs were bad.

But these most certainly were.