Turn Left?
[ Matilda discovers what it's like to be Bound, and now she must find her room.]
"Turn left, hmm?" She obeys, and finds herself looking across the bar at the door to the residential areas. "So far, so good." She picks up her bag of books and strides purposefully through that door, then looks at the key again. 'Turn Right'. She does so, and finds herself looking at a staircase, onto which she steps. The key says 'Go Up.' Some time later, it says 'Exit Stairs'. At this point she's huffing and puffing. Unrelenting, the key requests that she travel down the hall. She doesn't look at it for quite some time, and when she does, the instruction 'Backtrack' is inscribed on it in what is, insofar as such is possible, a snarky font. She turns around and keeps walking until it changes to 'Look Right', and there she finds a door with her name quite literally on it. Relieved, she puts the key in the lock (using her eyes; both hands are occupied with the bag of books) and enters the room.
The door shuts quietly behind her as she takes in this masterpiece. Every wall is covered in bookshelves, except for another door which presumably leads to the actual bedroom. Sensitive to financial restrictions, whoever created this room has made it fairly small in terms of floor - just enough room to walk comfortably around the perimeter, given that there is a fairly large table or desk in the middle with a lamp and a comfortable-looking armchair. The distinction between table and desk is blurred by the fact that the piece of furniture in question is suited to the armchair, a distinction normally reserved for tables, but still manages to have drawers, a distinction normally reserved for desks.
The room is also unusually tall. Attached to the shelves by rails is one of those library ladders that people use to reach tall shelves. The top of the ladder is not visible from the floor in the light of the table-lamp.
Matilda drops her bag and scampers up the ladder, finding that at the top there is another lamp. She switches this on and discovers that the ceiling of this room does in fact have a light; returning to the floor, she finds the dimmer switch and turns it on to very dim indeed - just enough that she can see all the shelves. Much to her chagrin they are without exception empty.
With a shrug she enters the bedroom. True to its name it has not got much more room than is taken up by a bed and a bedside table, the latter of which has enough room for a third lamp and a good-sized book but nothing else. The not much more room, then, is occupied by a piece of furniture intended for the storing of clothes. This, at least, is inhabited.
The whole place has a distinct look of classy library to it, being dominated by a theme of soft-looking wood illuminated by artful old lamps with incandescent bulbs. All in all, Matilda has hardly ever been happier with a place of residence.
Now the only thing remaining, she thinks to herself with a slightly exasperated air, is to pay off that dratted tab. What's an almost-six-year-old with no money and few marketable skills to do?
"Turn left, hmm?" She obeys, and finds herself looking across the bar at the door to the residential areas. "So far, so good." She picks up her bag of books and strides purposefully through that door, then looks at the key again. 'Turn Right'. She does so, and finds herself looking at a staircase, onto which she steps. The key says 'Go Up.' Some time later, it says 'Exit Stairs'. At this point she's huffing and puffing. Unrelenting, the key requests that she travel down the hall. She doesn't look at it for quite some time, and when she does, the instruction 'Backtrack' is inscribed on it in what is, insofar as such is possible, a snarky font. She turns around and keeps walking until it changes to 'Look Right', and there she finds a door with her name quite literally on it. Relieved, she puts the key in the lock (using her eyes; both hands are occupied with the bag of books) and enters the room.
The door shuts quietly behind her as she takes in this masterpiece. Every wall is covered in bookshelves, except for another door which presumably leads to the actual bedroom. Sensitive to financial restrictions, whoever created this room has made it fairly small in terms of floor - just enough room to walk comfortably around the perimeter, given that there is a fairly large table or desk in the middle with a lamp and a comfortable-looking armchair. The distinction between table and desk is blurred by the fact that the piece of furniture in question is suited to the armchair, a distinction normally reserved for tables, but still manages to have drawers, a distinction normally reserved for desks.
The room is also unusually tall. Attached to the shelves by rails is one of those library ladders that people use to reach tall shelves. The top of the ladder is not visible from the floor in the light of the table-lamp.
Matilda drops her bag and scampers up the ladder, finding that at the top there is another lamp. She switches this on and discovers that the ceiling of this room does in fact have a light; returning to the floor, she finds the dimmer switch and turns it on to very dim indeed - just enough that she can see all the shelves. Much to her chagrin they are without exception empty.
With a shrug she enters the bedroom. True to its name it has not got much more room than is taken up by a bed and a bedside table, the latter of which has enough room for a third lamp and a good-sized book but nothing else. The not much more room, then, is occupied by a piece of furniture intended for the storing of clothes. This, at least, is inhabited.
The whole place has a distinct look of classy library to it, being dominated by a theme of soft-looking wood illuminated by artful old lamps with incandescent bulbs. All in all, Matilda has hardly ever been happier with a place of residence.
Now the only thing remaining, she thinks to herself with a slightly exasperated air, is to pay off that dratted tab. What's an almost-six-year-old with no money and few marketable skills to do?