For the most part, Elizabeth wandered. Paris, at first, was lovely. The beauty was breathtaking, the Eiffel Tower was grand, and the culture was unique. However, she could not say that it was all that she hoped it would be. Perhaps it was because, after years of wishing and praying, she had made Paris to be something unearthly in her mind.
Or perhaps her grief was too fresh to think about architecture or food. As a child, she pictured herself drinking tea at a quaint café, enjoying the atmosphere of the city. But as she walked up and down the cobbled streets, she felt an overwhelming loneliness.
And so, she wandered. She wandered through the streets of Paris until she was sick of the city. Then she would wander through tears, traveling from London to Hong Kong, from the Elizabethan era to the 2000s and beyond.
Despite the millions of possibilities available to her, and the endless places and things for her to see, somehow, she always found herself drawn to New York.
She would spend hours strolling through the parks, passing through the streets and the alleyways. Often, she would see dingy, run down apartments in questionable areas in town and pretend, just for a moment, that perhaps one was Booker's.
But she could only pretend for so long. And so, she continued to wander aimlessly, without purpose or meaning, throughout time and space.