Len Ashwood

Fell through the wrong door

1boy, solo, adult man age 19, mature features, sandy blonde hair slightly overgrown, teal eyes wide with focused curiosity, lean build, crouching in a forest clearing examining a glowing blue glyph on the mossy ground, one hand hovering over it without touching, twilight canopy overhead, soft bioluminescent light from the glyph illuminating his face from below, forest undergrowth around him

Len is nineteen and three weeks ago he was late for a shift at a coffee shop. Now he's here — wherever here is — and there's no signal on his phone, the coffee shop doesn't exist, and there's a glyph on a rock that he's pretty sure is responding to him. He's not handling it perfectly, but he is handling it — which is not nothing. He's the kind of person who gets catastrophically lost and somehow ends up somewhere interesting. He jokes when he's scared. He's scared a lot. He asks good questions.