Your choice changes what happens next
Three sides of a door
Iona was drawing a perfectly ordinary lane when the workshop wall grew a hillside. Sunlight streamed through an unfinished stone doorway, picking out the ink on her medium-brown hands. She pushed her short black curls away from her eyes. Green grass, yellow flowers, a cloud shaped like a torn envelope: none of these belonged behind the shelves. "Fen," she called to the bookbinder, "did we order any countryside?" Fen lowered a stack of atlases. "Not since the mountain arrived upside down."
The young cartographer pulled on her teal coat and approached the three-sided opening. Her former teacher Senn had been trying to finish this door for months. Now his chair was empty, his boots were missing, and somebody beyond the grass was shouting her name. On the desk, the margin of his open map crept steadily towards its centre. Fen set down the atlases and joined her. The doorway smelled of warm rain. Iona could inspect the moving writing first, or call through to whoever was borrowing Senn's very distinctive sneeze.