HH_mirror

Blythe House remembered ushering John onto his train, tuning out his usual complaints about how trains were too slow and how some idiot was going to do some such thing that would surely make him late.  She remembered turning away from the distinctly normal-looking Amtrak train and having the idea to go to the market to buy herself some vegetables for a small stew she could eat while he was away.  She remembers cooking that stew and waiting for her husband to return from his trip.  Five days and he still wasn't back.  It wasn't entirely unusual, but enough to set her on her guard.  She remembers going to bed the previous night, thinking that if he wasn't home by dinner the next evening, she was going to call the police.

What she doesn't remember is someone possibly attacking and drugging her, which was the only explanation she could think of for why she seemed to be somewhere in Europe all of a sudden.  The room she stood in and, indeed, the building that housed it was very, very old, she could see.  She imagined that if Greg had been here, he might be able to tell her something about the architecture.  He was always reading books and things about the places they'd lived in when he'd been younger.  He would bend her ear for hours, telling her about the things he'd learned in school and wandering around the various countrysides.  Blythe sighed deeply, missing Greg not for the first time.  He was never a hugely talkative person, but he'd never gone more than six months without calling before.  She certainly hoped that whatever he was doing, he wasn't in any trouble.  Sighing and reminding herself that he probably didn't want to worry or bore her with what he saw to be trivial and inane (no matter how many times she tried to tell him that he never bored her; she didn't think he could, her dear), she looked around the room.  There was a desk in the middle of it with a single sheet of what looked like parchment and...a quill?  Now she was slightly amused, if from nervousness.  If she didn't know better, she almost felt as though she'd fallen into one of the books she'd read Greg when he'd been a child.  He'd always loved them.

Smiling at the thought, she shifted her purse higher onto her shoulder and went to sit down at the table.  She felt a bit silly picking up the quill and dipping it into the inkwell provided alongside it, but she figured there wasn't much else she could do.

( Here goes something possibly anticlimatic...though I do hope I don't explode... )

I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. ___BH___
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. ___BH___
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. ___BH___
One day, marmalade my son will rule the world.  ___BH___