Ever since his abduction at the hands of Tabitha Galivan, Ed’s been -- understandably -- different. He wears less green, his suit hung up in the closet in a plastic bag to keep the dust away. Gray sweaters, his glasses, and fleece pajama pants are his uniform now, and as he drifts through the halls of the Van Dahl estate like the ghost of the man he used to be, he doesn’t make a sound.
He simply makes himself a pot of tea and takes it outside to the porch where he can watch the snow fall from the bench swing. Legs all folded up underneath him, the blanket he’s left out there from the day before finds his lap and forms the final piece of the puzzle slipping into place.
He’ll be here all day. Again. Empty-handed, with nothing to distract his overactive mind besides the snow. Millions of perfect, little fern-like dendrites, mathematically perfect in every way, replicable and pristine, falling into an amorphous white void of randomness and chaos.
@featheredfiend