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It is Nora's room, I am sure of it. Except it isn't. Her bed is gone, so are the posters that used to take up most of the cream coloured wall at the back of the room. I stop in my track, my mind struggling to make sense of what I am seeing. I know her bedroom. Every inch of it (almost). This is not it. I glance back at Tubbo, who is engrossed in his phone, clearly not able to see me. He hasn't, cannot, notice how I have stopped.
Turning my gaze in front of me, I study the room more carefully. It is refurnished, with tall bookshelves that are built in, seamlessly fit in with the ceiling, floor and walls. They cover one full wall and part of another. There is also a desk, not the IKEA kind, but old, rustic. Stable, heavy and dark, made entirely out of wood with two little drawers that have locks on them on either side. Between them is a fairly good office chair, not leather but it still fits in with the desk and the matching bookshelves.
It looks nothing like a teenagers room. It looks like a study, an office. Did she move out? Did she— she has left for college, I realise. But where are her things? I furrow my eyebrows in quiet wonder, thinking hard. It makes no sense. Does she plan to never visit? Or is she going to... My room.
I float a few meters to the right, and stare. I am gawking, I note in the back of my brain, but I do not stop to shut my mouth. They have not moved my things. They were so quick to repurpose Nora's room while mine looks the same. It is like a museum. Like going to some castle and not being allowed to touch anything. Or a museum, where the workers seem to think that if you look at the relics too hard they will shatter. My clothes from the day I died, the day before I died, still lay on the floor, right where I threw them. They did not even clean it up.
