[England doesn't wait to gather his bearings before setting off. At first, he travels at a quick clip, pursuing escape with until he notices the sounds that appear to come from outside the labyrinth. He slows, then, and begins to meander along with one hand on the outer(?) wall.
Occasionally, he stops to look around, trying to ascertain whether he is truly alone. He doesn't wish to endanger anyone else with his experiments. If he doesn't see any obvious sign of having company, he begins to sing quietly under his breath. It becomes easier to hear the closer one is.] Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green...
inner hallways ❧
[England's experiments continue as he advances further into the maze. It becomes harder to sing through the thick, coppery taste of blood at the back of his throat, though his physical examinations show that his mouth certainly isn't bleeding. Sometimes he manages to sing: When you are king, dilly dilly, I shall be queen.
But sometimes all he can manage as he feels his way along the twisting walls is a soft hum to the tune.
And sometimes he's not singing at all, just making his way through the twisting halls with his hands raised and his feet cautious so that he doesn't misstep. Despite his care, he still occasionally curses when his feet come upon a sudden slope or he happens upon a dead end.] Fucking hell.
prophet eyes
[England doesn't wait to gather his bearings before setting off. At first, he travels at a quick clip, pursuing escape with until he notices the sounds that appear to come from outside the labyrinth. He slows, then, and begins to meander along with one hand on the outer(?) wall.
Occasionally, he stops to look around, trying to ascertain whether he is truly alone. He doesn't wish to endanger anyone else with his experiments. If he doesn't see any obvious sign of having company, he begins to sing quietly under his breath. It becomes easier to hear the closer one is.] Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green...
inner hallways ❧
[England's experiments continue as he advances further into the maze. It becomes harder to sing through the thick, coppery taste of blood at the back of his throat, though his physical examinations show that his mouth certainly isn't bleeding. Sometimes he manages to sing: When you are king, dilly dilly, I shall be queen.
But sometimes all he can manage as he feels his way along the twisting walls is a soft hum to the tune.
And sometimes he's not singing at all, just making his way through the twisting halls with his hands raised and his feet cautious so that he doesn't misstep. Despite his care, he still occasionally curses when his feet come upon a sudden slope or he happens upon a dead end.] Fucking hell.