The clock on the wall ticked away at an unsatisfactory rate; the skin of Elizabeth’s fingers bumped gently against her thimble as she busied herself painting to pass the time. Sometimes it felt impossible to track the hours between them, but after months of frequent, involved communication, she had grown adept at it, just as the other girl had.
When the hand eventually struck that particular hour, her attention could no longer be focused on her canvas.
Walking to the broadest, blankest wall available in her tower—a place reserved just for this—Elizabeth closed her eyes and held her palms away from either side of her chest. She allowed the strange force that swept over her to grow and grow of its own accord until there was a static-looking, crumbling hole in the wall, and a girl just like her waiting patiently at the other side.
“Hello again,” Eleanor said.
Elizabeth reopened her eyes and felt giddy. An unheard of warmth always squeezed at her chest as of late when they partook in these secret conversations—whispering through the walls into another dimension.
“Hello. I’ve painted you something whilst Songbird wasn’t looking.”
Eleanor’s eyes were blue like hers, and her hair was dark too. But she had a certain infraction of pain in her eyes Elizabeth couldn’t emphasise with—perhaps not until she would be older and experience it.