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dramatispersonae) wrote2015-04-26 03:33 pm
dramatispersonae) wrote2015-04-26 03:33 pm
❧ the inner garden
You stumble into yet another garden, spinning and off-kilter and peculiar. This space is dominated by a massive waterfall pouring from the sky, casting a heavy wet mist into the air. The foliage is wild and overgrown, untamed and untrimmed. The flowers and leaves seem incredibly real, but everything else is offputtingly two-dimensional—rocks and boulders are papier-mâché, the stones beneath your feet are nothing but cardboard puzzle pieces, and flimsy trees hang from the ceiling by string.
Mobiles of birds and bugs swing around, hung from tree branches, spinning in the breeze, casting wild shadows. Crooked stacks of books—some short, some as tall as trees themselves—line the path, and a persistent, faint drumming sound echoes through the quiet space.
Under the waterfall, there is a single doorway.
[use this space to talk to each other and catch up, before proceeding to endgame]
Mobiles of birds and bugs swing around, hung from tree branches, spinning in the breeze, casting wild shadows. Crooked stacks of books—some short, some as tall as trees themselves—line the path, and a persistent, faint drumming sound echoes through the quiet space.
Under the waterfall, there is a single doorway.
[use this space to talk to each other and catch up, before proceeding to endgame]
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. . . well.
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[exasperated . . .]
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Can you please leave me alone?
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