You decide you aren’t going to let yesterday’s failed attempt deter you, and head back outside. The garden looked the same as always, and the hedge maze sat resolutely on the far end.
The sun seems even brighter and hotter than yesterday as you briefly squint up towards it in annoyance. Your head buzzes slightly, a slight fog working its way through your thoughts as your gaze shifts downward, away from the oppressive brightness. ‘You need to find somewhere shady and cool’ said your brain, away from the blasted orb in the sky.
You dimly nod along with the thought, your eyelids heavy, and almost turn to go back inside before summoning what will you still have and begin to stride towards the entrance to the hedge maze. The skirt of the dress flows softly as you pick a path at random and begin walking. The hem of the dress starts to ruffle and lift slightly while the petticoats swish about your thighs. The fuzzy white patches had increased in number and size.
Numerous twists and turns later, and you come into a rounded area within the maze. In the center is a fountain, with a statue of what appeared to be a nymph pouring water from a stone carafe. The sound of the water is pleasing, but the sun is still beating down overhead.
You sit down on a nearby stone bench, reaching down to adjust the straps of your Mary Janes, finding it surprisingly difficult to reach them with your arms. The stocking-clad feet inside are slightly sore, and the shoes suddenly seemed too tight. Strange, you think, the shoes were comfortable enough in the house, and you had no trouble getting into them.
You stretch your arms as far as you can and barely reach the latches on the buckles. You loosen them by one notch and reclose them, wriggling your toes contentedly as the tightness ebbed somewhat.
Unending however was the buzzing in your brain. It seemed to have only increased in fact. Coupled with the heat from above you were in a complete haze. You wipe at the sweat on your brow with a gloved hand, not noticing as the gloves begin to creep higher on your arms, stopping near your bare shoulders. The separating between the middle and ring fingers of the gloves begins to dissipate, slowly linking them together.
Your foggy mind also fails to realize that you had just felt the wetness of the sweat and the heat on your brow directly, not as though through a layer of fabric.
Cool. Dark. Dank. The words flash through your mushroom-addled mind, eliciting a small moan as you imagine somewhere you can rest and hide from the harsh light of the day.