She reaches, standing outside the wardrobe, into the wardrobe... and touches wood at the back, behind the coats.
She stands, staring at it meditatively, for a few seconds. Then she steps away, because she'd better hurry home, it's been—
—not even long enough for the angle of the shadows under the window to change.
So either not long at all, or very long indeed.
Elizabeth goes home in a hurry. She checks the clock. She looks in on Chris in her office and gets an absent-minded 'hi', from which she deduces that she has in fact been gone for just about long enough to bike to the abandoned house and back, and not to have had tea with a Faun and listen to his stories for hours in between, nor the day or days on top of that it would have taken for the sun to be at the same angle coming as going.
It's all right there in her mind palace, every detail she could store away, a whole new room tucked behind a wardrobe with notes about Fauns and winter and Christmas and the White Witch and the thrones at Cair Paravel. She doesn't think it was a dream. She doesn't think she imagined it. But all the evidence outside her head points to her having walked into that wardrobe, taken a very short nap with very vivid dreams, and then walked out again not five minutes later.
The problem continues occupying her mind for quite a while.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2014-06-20 02:33 am (UTC)She turns around.
She reaches, standing outside the wardrobe, into the wardrobe... and touches wood at the back, behind the coats.
She stands, staring at it meditatively, for a few seconds. Then she steps away, because she'd better hurry home, it's been—
—not even long enough for the angle of the shadows under the window to change.
So either not long at all, or very long indeed.
Elizabeth goes home in a hurry. She checks the clock. She looks in on Chris in her office and gets an absent-minded 'hi', from which she deduces that she has in fact been gone for just about long enough to bike to the abandoned house and back, and not to have had tea with a Faun and listen to his stories for hours in between, nor the day or days on top of that it would have taken for the sun to be at the same angle coming as going.
It's all right there in her mind palace, every detail she could store away, a whole new room tucked behind a wardrobe with notes about Fauns and winter and Christmas and the White Witch and the thrones at Cair Paravel. She doesn't think it was a dream. She doesn't think she imagined it. But all the evidence outside her head points to her having walked into that wardrobe, taken a very short nap with very vivid dreams, and then walked out again not five minutes later.
The problem continues occupying her mind for quite a while.