There is a difference between being resigned and being realistic. The balance can be tricky, even when you've got experience stepping between the two. God knows Karen's had plenty enough with both, but funnily enough, it took going back home, at least mentally, for her to find a better distinction when it comes to this place.

She's at this party, even though they still creep her out a little and probably always will, and even though when the sun dipped past the horizon, the change of her outfit from lazy to lux was more than a little unsettling. Missing out on the food, the drink, the brief break from hardship, has begun to seem more pointlessly stubborn than even she can justify. On the bright side, at least she isn't dressed as broccoli.

She is, however, suddenly in heels in the middle of a corn field. Taking them off means the freezing of her feet, snuggly wool socks having switched to flimsy silk stockings, and leaving them on means walking on her toes all night to keep from sinking into the dirt. She considered breaking off the heels but couldn't bring herself to mangle anything so clearly expensive, even if they serve absolutely zero purpose in a place like this. Besides, it's easy enough to pop back home and, just now, reemerge through the corn stalks, massive skirt held up in both hands, hiking boots tromping solidly beneath.