Literature
The Door of Many Places
The Door stood among the rubble of what once was a castle or a high keep. Nothing else of it remained, alongside the rocks and grass. Slowly succumbing to nature, on a dias stood the Door, with only overgrowth vegetation around the decay. It was made of metal, slightly blue and shiny, but changing and reflecting the rainbow colors with the sun. Engraved on it were countless runes, letters, and markings; symbols of unknown nature and pictographs of clear intent. During some nights, light shone from below the door, as if lights were being kindled in a room beyond it. But nothing stood around the door. Faint sounds could be heard if you dared to get closer, the clanking of plates, or armor, or the rustling of feet. Sometimes even a laugh or a muted argument. A small stream flowed nearby, its bed covered with tiles and colorful rocks, remnants of what once was a cellar and its floor. At night the water reflected the stars and the door frame, with its glimmering runes and scripts. But
