No Questions Asked

[victorianflorist]

You insert the key into the keyhole and turn it. The sound of machinery is loud, you not only hear it but you also feel it in your bones as great cogs click and tumblers fall into place. The statue splits down the middle, opening up into a larger chamber than the one you were in. More pressingly, however, it appears that the key you're holding has now become the handle of a large, one-handed sword with a double edge.

You inspect the blade, formed of the same metal that the key was, and notice its apparent sharpness. As you stare into it, you see a flash of the gargoyles' eyes in the reflection of the blade. You feel as if something has been GIFTED to you, and you careful hold the blade at your side, feeling natural in handling it already.

You walk though the now open doorway, the halves of the grotesque on your left and right, the basin having moved with the right half. You are now in a larger room than previously, it evokes the word clearing in your mind, and you come to notice twisted, gnarled trees forming what seems to be a grove, their roots breaking the untamed grass coating the ground from wall to wall.

You look up at the sky and see only the slate grey of rain clouds which have yet to give up the ghost and let the day be deary. The sort of time that feels both fleeting and transient while stretching for blissful and tragic eternity. Today the sky looked tired, bloated, and exhausted. The early morning moon winks through the clouds at very rare moments.