SMPtober; Enchanted
Wilbur woke as he heard someone shout and the door slam shut. He blinked his tired eyes before wondering down the stairs. Natural morning light filtered in through the large windows above and beside him. The man began to brew a pot of coffee—he deserved some after the sudden wake-up he received. Hot steam lifted into his face as he poured the brew into a light blue mug. He watched it for a moment, mesmerised by the semi-transparent smoke floating up into the air before being blown away by his steady breathing. Lifting the cup by its handle, Wilbur explored the cabin. The home was rather large—considering the little time Sam took when building it. Many rooms were unknown to him. He wanted to explore the unexplored. Hallways that led to bedrooms, a large second living area downstairs, an impressive library. The Brit was growing bored with seeing the same sights repeatedly. He moved his will to explore into finding the most interesting books in the library and examine some art. The library—two stories high, rollable ladders edged the room, elegant recreations of ancient classics hung against the walls—looked straight out of a fantasy novel. Wilbur stopped to examine a stunning recreation of the Statue of David in the centre of several armchairs and side tables. Sam’s building ability always amazed him. Setting his piping-hot coffee on one of the nearby tables, Wilbur wondered down the aisles, skimming through books at random. At the end of the wall of books, an acoustic guitar hung on the far wall. The man paced to it, excitement coursing through his veins. He’d forgotten his back in London and had been itching to play. The guitar came off its mount easily. He retreated to the reading area and sat in one of the small leather armchairs. One hand gripped the neck and the other prepared to strum. He tuned the instrument before playing a quick tune, which turned into several of Crywank‘s songs. Before he realised anything happened, the man noticed a small, misty cat wrapped around his ankle. Unconcerned about the feline, Wilbur kept playing. Next: an almost-clear bulldog sat on the chair next to him. Slowly, more and more animals appeared, each more visible than the last. It now just clicked in his mind; This was no normal guitar, but an enchanted one. They heard footsteps descend from upstairs, he and the animals turned their heads towards the sound. Poke walked pass the room, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. “Hey, Wil,” the man tiredly murmured, not looking at the Englishman. He returned the greeting, glancing around as he did. The animals disappeared. Wilbur looked down at the guitar, he was right. This was no normal guitar, not in the slightest.
