The house gets bigger, and more empty, and colder. She wanders the rooms alone, she is in her house all alone; and the nighttime comes (it always seems to come on quickly), and the house grows bigger, colder, lonelier, sparser. Thus she is made of solitary weeping, and the house is so large around her she cannot stand it; she dreams of a small cottage, a small room, something comforting and more like a womb; but her house is large and empty and cold, and she cannot stand the dreams that come in this house. There are so many empty spaces here, there is so much void here; her house is the Pit and the Darkness, and so she is ever the solitary weeper.