❝ there was a difference between living and existing, and for the first time, phoebe felt like she was living. and wasn't that a marvellous thing?❞
[book 1]
in which a boy calls a girl irrelevant, but somehow manages to fall in love with her anyway...
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They'd barely had a day in the house, and Peter was almost certain that he was going slightly mad. Every hallway he walked down, he could have sworn he saw a person disappear around a corner, or walk across the hall, or see a door shut, or hear one open behind him.
Maybe, just maybe, Lucy was right, and the house was haunted.
She'd said stranger things in her time, after all. Susan was quite happy curled up by a fireplace with her dusty old books (she'd taken great delight in her discovery of their bedroom's bookshelf), while Lucy was dozing on an armchair. Edmund had gone walking around the garden, and every so often Peter would catch a glimpse of him through a window.
Peter had decided to explore the house which would be their home for the foreseeable future. If he had a slight ulterior motive of finding the girl from the window, he didn't let on.
So far, Peter had counted at least twenty-five different hallways, and at least fifty different doors. He'd need a piece of string to find his way around this labyrinth - at the moment, he'd settled for simple praying that he'd be able to find his way back to their room.
After Mrs. Macready had berated them and told them all of the rules of the house, Peter was extra careful when it came to walking around the ancient halls. Knowing his luck, he'd trip, and half the house would come down with him.
He'd been aimlessly walking for the better half of an hour, and still, he had no real bearings of where he was.
At the end of the hall, a door swung open, seemingly completely on its own. Okay, now Peter was convinced, the house was undoubtedly haunted.
With slow, cautious steps, Peter approached the open doorway. He could see flickering orange light coming from the arch, and he could hear the crackling of wood popping as it burned. Peter couldn't deny that the house was bloody cold, and the fire sounded rather enticing.
He reached the entryway, and with a deep breath to steel himself, stepped over the threshold.
"Hello?" His voice was quiet, tentative. Looking over, he saw a figure standing with his back to him, facing the fire. The man's hair was white, and the tips of glasses were poking out over his ears.
"Ah! You must be Peter!" The old man's voice of jovial, and he turned to face Peter. Peter was rather stunned - he had an impressively white beard. "My name is Professor Kirke - I assume you've been exploring and stumbled upon my little office?"
"Yes, sir," Peter said, "I hope I'm not disturbing you, professor. The door opened, and well, I-" The professor held up one finger to stop Peter speaking.
"Disturbing me? Nonsense! I have more time than I know what to do with, boy. Staring at a fire is only intriguing for so long." The professor grinned, and Peter smiled back hesitantly.
