She looks at the chair and the desk more critically. Could the desk fit out the door? What sits atop it now?  

She picks up the music box and wraps herself in the blanket again while she considers. 

The desk could probably fit through the door, though it looks kind of heavy. She'd have trouble pulling it out. The only things on the desk are a box of sheet music, and a framed painting of a beach at sunset with large rocks made out of iridescent crystal. Neither would be difficult to move elsewhere.

She sets the music box next to the stack of sheet music for the moment.

She reaches for the porcelain doll, and her fingers brush against a paper flower.

...oh. 

She gathers up all the paper flowers she can reach, and offers them to the bookshelf with the lost owner.

Now then.

She moves the dresses and jewelled combs to the armoire in the bookshop: she moves a few books on music composition from the bookshop to the desktop. The painting and the violin can switch places for now. 

She checks beneath the desk before she tries to put its chair back where it belongs. 

Another box hides beneath the desk! This must be why the chair hadn't been put there already. It's filled with an impressive number of decorative scarves.

She wraps a deep midnight-blue scarf around her shoulders, then carries the box up and places it in the bottom of her armoire. 

She checks to make sure her dresses and the wizard robes are getting along with their new neighbours. A few of the wizard robes are a bit discomfited, particularly the brave burgundy one: she takes it down, looks over at the bed with its stacks of books, and places it on the last remaining small table with a frown. 

She goes out into the street, curtsies to the more imposing building, and politely knocks on its door.

For a few seconds, there is silence.

Then the door clicks and opens obligingly, all on its own.

Like the last building, this one is on the smaller side, at least in the number of square feet available to walk around in. It differs in that it is tall. It's built like a cathedral, with tall, tall tall archways, and tall archways on top of those, so that the ceiling goes up and up and up. The side with the door is entirely stonework, but directly across from her is a set of stone archways with large glass windows that shine down the most light she's seen since she got to this place. It doesn't actually veer into being painfully bright, however. Instead, it's like moonlight streaming into a dark room.

This looks like it was once a temple to something, but it's not clear which deity (or deities) it was built for. The space where an altar would go is completely empty. The only furnishings to speak of are unlit candelabras on the walls, and a long, thin rug in deep purple, running through the center of the empty space.

Oh. 

Well, she can read that plain as the nose on her face.

She claps her hands once, and listens.

The sound echoes throughout the empty cathedral, unanswered.

She steps up to where the altar would have stood, and claps her hands again.

The echo that follows this time is louder, ringing through the arches and empty spaces of the abandoned cathedral.

She smiles. 

Then she goes back to the crowded little room and starts opening boxes, starting with the closest and most solidly-built.

The closest, sturdiest box holds a fine porcelain vase, carefully wrapped in paper and packed in with straw to prevent being broken.

Another holds more stuffed animals, all snuggled together in the box, looking quite comfortable despite their cramped lodgings.

One box is entirely empty.

A smaller box looks entirely empty, but the inside is slightly smaller than it should be, and proves to have a false bottom. The real bottom of the box contains a signet ring with a stylized rose, a locket with the initials 'RM,' and a dagger in a dark blue-black sheath.

She checks the dagger in its sheath, and hums to herself. 

Now all she needs is honest dirt. Perhaps further down the alleyway there will be somewhere without all these cobblestones.

The dagger is sturdy and sharp, the blade made out of a dark blue-grey metal that reflects a pale lavender when it catches what little light is available.

While the alley is long, it's not infinite. It leads into a small, dead-end courtyard, crammed between buildings that all have no apparent entrances, clever or otherwise. The cobblestones give way to black dirt, dotted with wispy tufts of sparse grey grass. A circular fountain made out of pale stone sits in the middle. A second smaller circle containing dirt is set inside it. Something probably once grew there, but whatever it was, there's no sign of it now, and no hint as to what happened to it. The ring around it is filled with cool water, rippling faintly in the breeze. Violet vines grow on trellises around the courtyard, looking quite healthy despite the lack of sun. Their coloration is similar to the vined purple plant back at the bookplace, but the leaves are shaped differently, there is no sign of blossoming, and the foliage shimmers a little in a way the other plant doesn't.

She looks at the empty fountain, and hugs her blanket closer around herself. 

... well. Nothing but to make do. 

Back to the waiting room where the lost things gather.

She needs the box full of stuffed animals, but the bed is full of books. So. So so so. 

The desk is ornate and there is a painting on it: the painting can be hung from where the dresses were. The ornateness is another matter. Does it belong in her bookplace...? No, no it does not. It's too haughty, it would only discomfit the books. 

Does it belong to the airy place, then? No, no, it's too squat and stolid for that. It is a rather beuraucratic desk. It wants for a solid, dependable place, where it will be respected as it deserves. 

She sighs, and goes up to the apartment to examine the stopped clock.

Nothing in the clock is obviously broken; no gears look out of place, and nothing's clogging up anything inside. It looks like it needs to be wound, but there's no key or crank with which to do it.

She hums to herself. The gears seem well settled, but terribly bored. Without their key, they seem to have settled down to sleep. 

She bites her lip, and goes to retrieve the jewellery-box.

The jewelry box has a lot of jewelry in it, in lots of different styles. Either the original owner traveled a lot, or the box itself has been collecting a lot of strays. Necklaces, earrings (not all of them in pairs), rings, bracelets - in various metals of shadow appropriate colors. A lavender that matches the coins, a silver that shines like moonlight, a stormy grey that shifts in the light, a deep blue-black that twists and shimmers in the light strangely, and a deeper, darker purple that sort of - twists the light and swirls mysteriously. The gems in the various jewelry don't seem to have been affected as much, recognizably emeralds and rubies and diamonds, though most of the colors look subtly deeper, and richer.

Mm.

She brushes her fingers along the storm-grey chain, then pulls back her hand sharply. 

Not happy, this one. Not happy at all. It's been waiting rather too long, and it's sick to death of its neighbours. It feels all out of shape. Part of her wants to clutch it to her, whisper to it, tell it that it'll be alright. 

Yet. Place your hand into a fire, and you will be burned. She closes the jewelry-case again, and clicks the latch firmly into place.