The Way Back Home's

Underwrote

Behind the door, Farrell comes across a slightly different, short passageway. This hallway is still wooden. The bottom half of the wall is covered in wooden panels while the top half is painted light green. The floor uses a reddish-brown parquet. On the left side of the hallway, a small chair and table are arranged with a pot on it. Opposite him, there was a landscape painting. Internally, there is no obvious difference. But, this nuance somehow made Farrell feel a drastic change. There is a kind of longing mixed with pleasure and a little sadness.

The next second, Farrell flinched. One of the two paintings nearby moved. Moving in the real sense. The leaves of the tree swayed as if they were blown by the wind. The light of the sun on it made the shadow of the tree dance. This happened for a few seconds. During those few seconds as well, Farrell looked at him without blinking. He knows some tricks for this sort of example using digital frames. However, this painting was too real. Farrell could even feel a gust of wind coming out of him. Though the surface is rough like ordinary oil painting.

Next, replace the painting next door. The painting depicts the sea. Just like the first painting, this painting at first glance looks like an ordinary painting. Some parts of the waves protrude, covering part of the body of the ship. The waves moved, hitting the ship's hull, making splashes of water all around. Faintly, Farrell heard the sound of waves interspersed with the sound of seagulls. The ship's sail swayed as the wind blew it. Too real. Farrell stretched out a finger to hold. However, had not had time to do it, the painting again sculpted as if not to be touched.

Next, Farrell's ears caught the voices. Mixed sounds between the clang of the dinnerware in the music and the noisy low of the conversation. He realized such a combination of sounds was common at parties, banquets, or such. If the dinner was held here, why didn't William say anything and why was there food also provided in the front restaurant?

Farrell is moving forward. She found herself on a second-floor balcony with stairs flanking on each side. Below, he saw many people passing by on the brown marble floor. They brought dishes filled with food, chat stood with their friends, in groups. The men came from the door on the right. Farrell captured the impression that these people had just taken food in the room and went out to enjoy it because there was no more seating inside.

Farrell set foot and began to climb down the stairs. Now, he realized another strange thing. High windows lined up across the stairs. They showed bright sunlight. The light flooded the entire room. Behind the window, the view was a little different. No ski runs, no trees. Instead, there were steep ravines nearby covered in snow against a backdrop of gray skies. When looking down, there are endless deep cliffs.

Something made him shudder. Not because of the deep abyss, but because of the many oddities. Everything he saw right now was too real. He had no idea what kind of trick his uncle was using to produce such a scene.

Farrell arrived at the bottom of the stairs. He turned his eyes around. Some people ignored his presence. Some just glanced at him for a moment. No one greeted him, no one he knew. No uncles, no Milo and no Libby, nor any lodging staff. He stepped again towards the large room on the right side, where the people were getting their dinner or their breakfast — considering this was a sunny morning.

The room was much larger than the restaurant next to the lobby. The ceiling rises to the second floor. A large wooden pillar stuck to the edge. The walls are filled with tall windows, plain without ornaments, framed with black wood, decorated with thick brown curtains. Round tables lined up neatly with four chairs. The visitors enjoyed their meal there after picking up the food at the serving table. The serving table is a long table from the middle of the tree trunk. Dare to bet that the wood used is hundreds of years old because it is very long and wide. There are two tables like this. It was placed on the edge of the room by the window. They contain a variety of food. Starting from soup, bread, meat, fruit, and other banquets. It's like a party.

Farrell was silent under the entrance. His eyes swept around with his mouth tightly closed. That place is full of people. Everyone is busy enjoying food or just chatting while drinking coffee. The view behind the window was the same as the one he had seen earlier. Grey sky is cloudless with sunlight. It was as if a new morning was approaching the inn attached to the edge of the abyss.

“You looking for something, young man?” A grandmother said hello.

“The plate is there,” said the grandmother again as she took a gulp to the right of the room. “If the drink is in front of it.”

Farrell was unable to answer so he simply nodded.

“Don't just shut up like that, you'll starve, you know. Hehehe...” The grandmother left her.

After a few meters away from her, Farrell decided to follow her. He passed tables full of people. One of them was eating black and white ball soup. At first glance, it looks like an eyeball. Farrell looked away, not wanting to guess. At another table, a man was busy writing. The spoon floated itself, feeding food to the mouth. There was a cat wearing a hat. This creature sits on a chair with a plate in front of it. The cat's eyes watched as Farrell stepped.

Farrell saw another animal. The white owl. The bird perched on a black wooden pole at the end of the room. When their gazes met, this animal looked at him fixedly as if it wanted to say something. Then, he flew just like that towards the hallway on the other side of the room. Half was grateful that the bird did not speak. All of this made him start thinking strangely.

Farrell turned to the serving table. He saw the food he had seen for the first time. For example, the eyeball soup. The soup spoon moved around as Farrell approached. As if to offer him food, the spoon floated up with its full contents and stopped in mid-air.

Farrell shook his head. “No, thank you.” It was the first time he had ever spoken to a cutlery.

The spoonful of soup returned to its quality, turned once, and was silent. As it approached the next cauldron, the same thing happened. Even every time he came close to one type of food, his tool alone moved. They seem to want to serve themselves. Instead of awe, Farrell was filled with curiosity mixed in horror. At the end of the table, there was one menu making him even more surprised. Name of the food ‘Volcano Pie’. The pie is ten centimeters in diameter. The edges are like ordinary pie and the shape soars in the middle with a small hole like a volcano. As if welcoming his presence, smoke poked out from the middle of the pie. Just like a volcano ready to erupt.

“OK. It's new,” Farrell murmured to himself.