Dahlia is, very slowly, trying to adjust to being in this house. She's pretty glacier-slow at it, because apparently that's just what happens when you spend thirteen years being little more than a science experiment. She's chosen a room-- as close to the Klaus that found her as she could manage-- but she hasn't done anything to personalize it or make it her own. Partially because it doesn't feel like hers, partially because Dahlia really isn't sure who she is as an individual person in her own right anymore.

She'd found some old coloring books somewhere and is sat in the middle of the bed with it in her lap, a splay of colored pencils next to her when a strange snap-pop! sound accompanied with a blue-white light that disappears as quickly as it had appeared makes her head snap up with a gasp, finding a boy standing in the place where the light had come from. She hadn't met everyone yet, there were too many people, and she was mostly isolating herself so far anyway. "Where did you come from?" Her voice has a light sound, almost child-like in nature, though she's the same age as everyone else.