Ava roams the halls of the inn when she's restless, when her room feels too small and stillness and quiet just don't agree with her. This is one of those times. She's got no clear destination, no goal in mind besides movement, a bit of exercise to clear her head.
She's lost inside her own thoughts, letting her feet carry her up this corridor, down another, stairs, and so on. She looks up as she approaches the arrival area, the sign on one of the doors catching her attention--she's never seen that before. She moves to the door, examining it closely first with her eyes and then tracing the the way the wood has bowed out with her palm, to confirm that yes, she is in fact seeing what she's seeing.
She's heard they don't let people out of the rooms if they aren't safe. If they took the arrival badly or they're likely to hurt someone, themselves. And maybe that's what's happening here.
But maybe that's just something they say. Maybe they keep people locked up for a different kind of trouble, or at some whim. She has to know. And her kind heart can't abide the idea of someone locked in one of these rooms all alone.
Ava knows for sure that she will die on a sunny July afternoon when she's eighty-four years old. Today, she's but a young woman of twenty-three.
She can take the chance.
"Hello?" she calls out, curling the hand on the door into a fist and rapping gently. "Hello, is someone in there?"
no subject
She's lost inside her own thoughts, letting her feet carry her up this corridor, down another, stairs, and so on. She looks up as she approaches the arrival area, the sign on one of the doors catching her attention--she's never seen that before. She moves to the door, examining it closely first with her eyes and then tracing the the way the wood has bowed out with her palm, to confirm that yes, she is in fact seeing what she's seeing.
She's heard they don't let people out of the rooms if they aren't safe. If they took the arrival badly or they're likely to hurt someone, themselves. And maybe that's what's happening here.
But maybe that's just something they say. Maybe they keep people locked up for a different kind of trouble, or at some whim. She has to know. And her kind heart can't abide the idea of someone locked in one of these rooms all alone.
Ava knows for sure that she will die on a sunny July afternoon when she's eighty-four years old. Today, she's but a young woman of twenty-three.
She can take the chance.
"Hello?" she calls out, curling the hand on the door into a fist and rapping gently. "Hello, is someone in there?"