Peacock feathers on the walls (meaning: the Evil Eye. A superstition of malign surveillance. A joke? Or an unconscious choice?) and more statuary. Now she’s seeing eyes everywhere: bronzes with empty sockets glare at her, dolls gleam glassily. Carved masks wait for someone to put them on. In a glass jar, a preserved plant specimen labelled WHITE BANEBERRY with a little poison symbol—more eyes: round white fruit with black circles for pupils, growing on red stalks. Bar none, the most alarming vegetation she has ever seen, like something from a nightmare about organ farms.