She puts the boots down on top of the cloak, strewn over the table on top of the torn paper wrapping, and walks to the window, parting the net curtains and peering out over the gardens. They look so pretty by the evening light...but she imagines they'll look pretty by the moonlight too. Her nose is nearly pressed to the glass as she surveys the herb garden, and rose bushes, and the winding pathways screened by flowering shrubs and bushes, and right in the very centre, the small hedge maze she has memorised the route of. She thinks of being able to be down there, and it feels good, like a little fragment of freedom.