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CHAPTER FOUR low-hanging fruit
⋆*✧･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:
IN THE MIDDLE OF an enchanted forest—the type of forest you'd only see in a storybook, with toadstools as big as houses, people as small as your pointer finger, and will-o'-the-wisps (and not ignis fatuus, either, but real nighttime wayfarers that relished in leading travellers astray)—Nadine sat cross-legged, poring over the contents of her phone. It was a scene at such odds of its surroundings that it would tempt one to double-check to make sure they hadn't stumbled into some kind of upside-down world. But the trees were as lush and gnarled as any in a fairy-tale, with little homes built into their hollows, the grass was just as healthy and green, with flowers sprouting in all shapes and sizes, and there was an air of wonder about the whole thing that couldn't be waved away by the sight of something as futuristic as a cellphone. Thus, anyone who stumbled into this scene would, eventually, come to the conclusion that, strange as it was, perhaps Nadine and her phone had just as much place here as the toadstool houses and will-o'-the-wisps.
The irony, of course, was that they'd have been more right in their first assumption. Although the forest was a three-dimensional, technicolour portrait of everything that might have previously been seen in black-and-white and flattened, it was no more real than the ink drawings in storybooks. It was an illusion, of course, but quite a clever and well-done one, with each leaf formed in excruciating detail, each fairy that fluttered by a full-blooded person in their own right.
Nadine had formed it with nothing but a few twists of her fingers and a brow creased with concentration. Even so, it was beautiful. Perhaps, if Reginald Hargreeves had seen it, he would've taken back the snide comments he'd made in 1963. Perhaps he would've admitted that illusions did have their uses, after all.
But Nadine hadn't formed it just to give the old middle finger to Ol' Reggie himself. Instead, she'd done it for the same reason she made any Sanctuary—because she wanted to step out of reality, at least for a little while. Because she needed a shield, something to separate her from the information she was about to discover.
With her phone charging all night, it had been ready to turn on in the morning. Nadine did so with trembling fingers, waiting impatiently for things to reboot. When it had, though, the blackness finally being replaced by the lockscreen, she... faltered.
Instead of the lockscreen she'd had for the past two years (and by that, she meant the years before time travel)—a pattern of pink hearts on a white background, with l'amour written on the bottom—the one staring back at her was brand-new. It was a painting of flowers, each done with an immaculate hand, their blooms so realistic they might as well have been exploding off the screen. The name of the artist was signed in the bottom right corner, and Nadine's stomach dropped at the sight of the familiar lettering.
