The dust picks up, and she sneezes, but then breathes in the fresh air. She'll fix it later, but for now, the room can feel it too, outside air. It cannot chase away the neglect and way that everything is at present, but it's a change, and she lays a hand on the bed before she leaves to feel the cover. She has to be careful, nearly completely falling on a pencil under her heel and having to catch herself on the wall.

The next door, stuck but yielding to pushing - and she remembers someone distantly telling her once that wood swells when the weather changes, so that's why doors stick - stairs that creak when she walks up. And a change in the sound, and it tells her she's made it to the attic, when it opens up. Dusty up here, too - she can practically smell it.