[ She pulls the door further as the man pushes against it. Then, Elizabeth quickly slips through almost with a "pop." She stumbles in her heels past him with an exclamation leaving her. Then, a sigh. Her hands immediately go to smoothing out her dress. A brief pause is given as she notices the change in attire. A change for her. The story must have decided she should look something more of what is expected of the time and place she has found herself.

Although "place" seems to be very subjective.

Elizabeth lets out another sigh before properly looking at her would be savior. His attire is one thing. Everything else says another. Hands settle on her hips. A famous missing author who has found himself trapped in this same place. The "place" is not this Lodge nor the dark lake below. Not even the town that must be adjacent to them. That place is grander, larger. ]

Bent? [ Her gaze turns to the aforementioned door, then to the surroundings. ] ... Oh.

[ The Lodge has been ravaged. Not simply by weather but it seems almost deliberate. Someone or something had broken in and meant to set the place a mess. The door was simply another element of that. She frowns at the sight before casting her eyes back to the taller man. ]

Not many good things come from looking for me. Are you sure that you were? [ Elizabeth turns to him proper now with her hand still resting on her hips. ] I would say it's very unwise to try and find me... but you already have. Mr...?

[ The question is a formality to play along with the apparent script that has whisked her away. She already knows who he is. Famous missing author Alan Wake. ]