Madalyn takes a few deep breaths, readying herself to try an idea that popped into her head. She takes the couple of steps forward until she's only about a foot from the wall, then reaches out and first tries to pull the flowers away from the wall to search for the door by the petals. The delicate flower petals rip, as she expected, and she curses lightly under her breath. So… no plan-aversion, she supposes.

…

Stephen finds himself standing on some sort of stage, in a large room, with a microphone on a stand sitting in front of him. He closes his apparently-open mouth and frowns. This is not… ideal… and he doesn't remember how he even got here. What is he supposed to say? He glances down at the notes he carries in his hands, and all that's on them is smears of what once was writing. He must've smeared the ink as he was standing up here, under the spotlight, sweating.