(no subject)
A door opens into Xanadu, and through it walks a somewhat scruffy man with sandy hair and a solid two day's worth of stubble-growth on him. The thin morning light that pours in behind him is tinted with the lingering crepuscular songs of birds and insects, and he yawns against the lull of it. The yawn keeps him distracted long enough to pull his keys out and close the door, the gesture familiar enough to do blind. It's thick enough that his senses are fooled long enough to not notice that he has appeared somewhere completely different than custom, common sense and simple physics lead him to assume.
Ignorance is blissful and brief.
"Ho-lee shit."
His hand hadn't yet left the doorknob, and judging by how white his knuckles are, it may never let go again.
Ignorance is blissful and brief.
"Ho-lee shit."
His hand hadn't yet left the doorknob, and judging by how white his knuckles are, it may never let go again.