Darion had taken her back to the edge of the tree line in sight of the house. He had politely wished her goodnight, and then vanished back into the woods without another word from either of them.
Snow was not ready to sleep. She was restless, and her mind was keyed up and buzzing with thoughts. She did try, obediently tip-toing up the stairs and past her sleeping hosts, but when she opened her door and looked into her room, she couldn't bring herself to step inside. It was too still and tight.
She turned around and walked back down the hall, leaving her door open behind her. She wandered through the house aimlessly, unable to sit still as her brain critically picked itself apart, re-envisioning, over and over, what had happened that night. What had been done. Why it had been done. How it had affected her. Why it had affected her that way. What would have been a better way. Is there a better way, really.
Around and around in circles her thoughts traveled, as she herself covered every square foot of the ground floor. Neither her thoughts nor her feet took her anywhere.
Finally, she forced her feet and thoughts to a stop. She wasn't getting anywhere. She knew she wasn't getting anywhere. She really should go to bed. But she still didn't want to. As she was standing there, stopped smack in the middle of a long hallway, it occurred to her just how quiet the house was. How alone she was.
And then she got an idea. Since she couldn't sleep, she might as well take advantage of the opportunity. She turned and strode of purposefully toward the basement. Maybe whatever was down there was more energetic at night. It was certainly worth a shot.
It was even darker at the bottom of the basement stairs at night than it was during the day. In fact, Snow was pretty sure it was the darkest place she had ever been. The moon and stars were well and truly hidden by the building above and around. There was no candle or lantern lit anywhere – let alone a fireplace. After Snow lowered the door closed save for the tiniest crack - not a single particle of light was present.
Yet, and this was strange, Snow could still see. Or, sort of. It wasn't really like regular seeing, but her brain could think of no other way to interpret it. It was a bit like the sketches the portrait painters would do before beginning the actual piece. She could see the shape and form of the stairwell. She could see the way the stairs led away and down.
But none of it looked quite real. Like charcoal on canvas, she felt like if she reached out she would be able to smear it into another shape, or if she dabbed it with a piece of rubber it would lighten, and then lift off the world entirely to leave mere empty canvas, still ripe with possibilities.
She slid her hand along the wall all the way down – she knew it was real. She did. But the little extra proof was comforting.