27th February, 1894 — Evergardens
The greenhouse at Evergardens must been close to closing when the snow began to fall outside, but Endymion had possibly been dozing on a bench, always taken in by the tranquil space (and already full on tea from the tearooms he had once been so fervently recommended). At least, when he started awake he struggled to see any other souls inside... and struggled to see anything at all past the greenhouse glass expect the flurry of blinding white.
So he felt he ought to leave, to return home while he still could, but – by the time he made it to the entrance a gust of wind and snow had blown in, strong enough to throw him bodily back. Hm. Apparating seemed out of the question, and he was shivering, even in the usually-temperate place. So he had – wandered back in amongst the plants again. “Hello?” he called out occasionally, hoping someone was still here. (Else he supposed he would find a comfortable patch to nap on, and forage for supper in the tearoom, and wait out the snow as an unfortunate stowaway.)
But everything looked a little off-kilter from the snow, somehow – the butterflies had disappeared; the paths seemed endlessly looping around on themselves, as though he had been wandering the same level for hours. Something broke the spell of it abruptly enough to make him stumble backwards – a distressed quail popped into existence. Following shortly by a fox. A fox he recognised, in fact. “Hello!” Endymion exclaimed, honestly quite grateful to see anything else still alive in this so that it hopefully wasn’t just all some odd dream.
So he felt he ought to leave, to return home while he still could, but – by the time he made it to the entrance a gust of wind and snow had blown in, strong enough to throw him bodily back. Hm. Apparating seemed out of the question, and he was shivering, even in the usually-temperate place. So he had – wandered back in amongst the plants again. “Hello?” he called out occasionally, hoping someone was still here. (Else he supposed he would find a comfortable patch to nap on, and forage for supper in the tearoom, and wait out the snow as an unfortunate stowaway.)
But everything looked a little off-kilter from the snow, somehow – the butterflies had disappeared; the paths seemed endlessly looping around on themselves, as though he had been wandering the same level for hours. Something broke the spell of it abruptly enough to make him stumble backwards – a distressed quail popped into existence. Following shortly by a fox. A fox he recognised, in fact. “Hello!” Endymion exclaimed, honestly quite grateful to see anything else still alive in this so that it hopefully wasn’t just all some odd dream.
