When she had at last regained conciousness, Florence noticed how stiff her arm was. Maxine had bandaged it as well as any doctor would have.
“Hey, look who woke up.” Maxine smiled from a small stove, from which breakfast smells were erupting. Florence’s eyes swept the room briefly. A modest, yet clean apartment. Oh, but the colors. There were more colors than Crayola could ever name! Brilliant blues and yellows of every hue spilled across the wall in a hazardous fashion.

There was no sign of Red or Sven. Groggily, Florence moved toward Maxine. “Do you have anything more…?” She gestured at her grey clothing.
“Of course!” Maxine laughed gaily. Florence changed into the clothes that had been handed to her. Too big, but warm.