Saturday Morning, The Dorm Lawn

[nobloodymessiah]

On the lawn of the dorms, there now stood a gazebo, one with slender pillars reaching up to a marbled cap. Outside the pillars was a ring of brambles and thorns. Inside the gazebo lay a bed, and upon it, a young Princess

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[not_called_icky]

Ichabod was still wandering around the strange place he had found himself in this morning, when he noticed something odd. A gazebo, encircled with brambles and a young girl sleeping inside. Or was she dead? Perhaps there had been a murder, or at least foul play of some kind.

The thorns made it near impossible to approach the bed she was resting on. Luckily Ichabod came prepared. His bag contained quite a few tools for cutting, because as an investigator one must be ready for all kinds of situations.

Still, his hands were bloody and his coat torn when he finally reached the sleeping girl. From out his bag Ichabod now pulled his glasses, an invention of his own, which he was most proud of. Wearing these he began to examine the body. Listening to her heart, it was clear that she was not dead. Perhaps she needed air? He leaned forward, pressing his lips against the girl's, preparing to let his breath help her.

[nobloodymessiah]

As his lips touched hers, a curious rush of wind whooshed outward from the girl's body. The air around them shimmered and hissed as the magic relinquished its hold on Aurora.

Aurora gasped for breath as her eyes flew open. She had told Philip not to look for her! And yet she could not be very upset that he had.

A moment later, her eyes focused on the male figure leaning over her. The one that was not her handsome betrothed.

"But ... you are not Philip," Princess Aurora said.

[not_called_icky]

That worked better than he had anticipated. Ichabod adjusted one of the lenses on her glasses.

"I am not, miss," he said. "My name is Ichabod Crane, and I was investigating what I can only assume to be a crime scene. Who, may I ask, is this Philip of whom you speak."

[nobloodymessiah]

Aurora sat up, shaking out her skirt and trying to clear her head.

"This is a crime scene," she said, darkly. "It is here that Maleficent cursed me, as she once cursed my mother. And Philip is to be my husband. I don't ... understand."

She was meeting the young man's eyes, now, her feelings swirling in an unsettled mix.

"Only True Love's Kiss could have awakened me," she said, softly, feeling the full weight of the words as she heard them aloud. "Nothing else."

Was this curious young man -- did that mean --