[ The tears hold infinite possibilities. Infinite realities existing just within reach (or, perhaps, which are coaxed into existence by the whims of a particular young woman). In her years alone in the tower - in the time after she lost her pinky, but before the arrival of Booker DeWitt - Elizabeth has seen and heard some remarkable things. ...True, they've become less subject to her influence than they'd once been, after she reached a certain age and then only able to access pre-existing tears, but...even those are no less remarkable.
Today is really no different than any other day. She wakes, dresses, has her breakfast. Reads a bit, sings, paints. (In the past, she'd have been watched through it all, but with how unstable the tower had become, those days were over. Not that she knew any of that.) She moves through her routine with a well-practiced contentedness, for the most part.
It's when her attention wanders - when she starts letting the what-ifs breathe and grow - that she turns to the tears. ]
Hmm... [ Elizabeth identifies the seams of a tear on the upper level of the library: one she's accessed dozens of times. It usually takes different forms, but if she concentrates enough, she can sometimes identify what makes each slice unique and grasp them, pulling in a scene she's touched before (very helpful when, say, painting the Eiffel Tower). Today, though, she embraces more of a spontaneous feeling that bubbles up: giddy and thrilling, and one of the only novelties that remains to her. Elizabeth focuses her mind, nudging aside the familiar tears in favor of something completely new, and grasps it. With some effort and a furrowed brow, the young woman reaches out into empty air, straining to bring a door into this new world into her own.
It works, and the shimmering slit in space fades in and out of focus as she catches her breath, then stepping forward to examine it. The scene doesn't offer any clues as to the time and place, and even when Elizabeth circles it, there are no clues in sight. Nothing to be sussed out of the vantage point she'd conjured. There's a small, disappointed sigh, and she moves to close the tear again...when a figure crosses by.
Startled, Elizabeth takes a half step back...but only for a moment. Quickly recaptured by her burning curiosity, she moves in again to peer through into the other world, silently hoping the person - a man, from the looks of it - will stop while still in view so she can study them in more detail.
(Perhaps the tower's former guardians were not the only voyeurs around.) ]
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for blueshit
Today is really no different than any other day. She wakes, dresses, has her breakfast. Reads a bit, sings, paints. (In the past, she'd have been watched through it all, but with how unstable the tower had become, those days were over. Not that she knew any of that.) She moves through her routine with a well-practiced contentedness, for the most part.
It's when her attention wanders - when she starts letting the what-ifs breathe and grow - that she turns to the tears. ]
Hmm... [ Elizabeth identifies the seams of a tear on the upper level of the library: one she's accessed dozens of times. It usually takes different forms, but if she concentrates enough, she can sometimes identify what makes each slice unique and grasp them, pulling in a scene she's touched before (very helpful when, say, painting the Eiffel Tower). Today, though, she embraces more of a spontaneous feeling that bubbles up: giddy and thrilling, and one of the only novelties that remains to her. Elizabeth focuses her mind, nudging aside the familiar tears in favor of something completely new, and grasps it. With some effort and a furrowed brow, the young woman reaches out into empty air, straining to bring a door into this new world into her own.
It works, and the shimmering slit in space fades in and out of focus as she catches her breath, then stepping forward to examine it. The scene doesn't offer any clues as to the time and place, and even when Elizabeth circles it, there are no clues in sight. Nothing to be sussed out of the vantage point she'd conjured. There's a small, disappointed sigh, and she moves to close the tear again...when a figure crosses by.
Startled, Elizabeth takes a half step back...but only for a moment. Quickly recaptured by her burning curiosity, she moves in again to peer through into the other world, silently hoping the person - a man, from the looks of it - will stop while still in view so she can study them in more detail.
(Perhaps the tower's former guardians were not the only voyeurs around.) ]