#myrlin

                        as a child, barbie would transform her small bedroom into a fantasy escape with kings and queens, knights and dragons, torn right from the pages of king arthur, the round table and camelot. with a bedsheet used as a cloak, a plastic sword in hand, she'd slay the dragon in the name of arthur and be knighted; lady barbie of camelot! but it was make believe, the imagination of a bright eyed, curious girl, enamoured by tales of legends.

❝ but it's a story, it's always been a story. king arthur, excalibur, the knights of the round table. i've owned plenty of them! ❞ she stares, wide eyed and shaking her head, before dropping into the seat across marlow's desk, bag falling to her feet.

she’d   never   done   this   for   anyone   before   ——   she   didn’t   even   know   if   he   liked   her   in   that   way.   sure,   he   was   nice   enough   when   they   were   both   working   ——   but   was   he   just   being   nice?   and   wasn’t   he   supposed   to   be   off   by   now?   eyes   trail   down   to   the   cups   of   coffee   in   her   hands,   she   can   already   feel   herself   second   guessing   everything.   perhaps   she   had   made   all   of   this   up   in   her   head.   aubrey   stands   up,   tempted   to   just   walk   home   ——   but   then,   as   if   on   cue,   marlow   walks   out   of   the   hospital,   smiling   as   soon   as   he   sees   her.    “   hi.   ”    the   earlier   nerves   seem   to   dissipate   as   soon   as   he’s   within   earshot   ——   funny   how   he   had   this   effect   on   her   and   they   barely   knew   each   other.   she   extends   one   arm   out   to   him,   offering   the   coffee   in   her   hand.    “   i   thought   i’d   return   the   favor   from   the   other   night   ——   thank   you   for   that,   by   the   way.   ”    @myrlin​.

one corner and then another ; one palace so easily blends into a second, especially when her thoughts feel slick as oil between her fingers. snow had thought it was a left here to head towards the PRINCESS-WHO-IS-NOT-THE-PRINCESS’s chambers, but perhaps that was elsewhere. perhaps that was the last castle. there is no question as to why snow is dragged to and fro with the woman who took her place ; it is to keep an eye on her, to be sure snow will not somehow loose her tongue from its bondage and speak the truth to someone who might get ideas in their head to put things back to how they had been before. snow turns another corner and feels just as lost as one step before, gaze darting to seek AID. it is found in the form of a man that she peers at over the stack of silken fabric folded carefully in her arms.

“excuse me,” her voice is a small thing yet it carried down the stone hall with some note of force that should not be behind it, “i think i’ve made a wrong turn. or - well - a handful of wrong turns.”