Once upon a shimmering shadow, in a room filled with whispers, where doorways rustled like leaves touching the ground, a curious child-ghost wandered.
Cold hands gripped old keys that spoke secrets, the walls trembled with forgotten giggles, and dreams trapped in jars giggled back.
Each doorway seemed different but was always the same, like socks lost in a tumble dryer, spinning yet never found.
“Where do you go, little feather?” a voice asked, painted blue like twilight. “To the other side, of course!” chirruped the child, twirling with endless glee.
Yet the other side was dark and vague, filled with cobwebs fashioned into stories left unspun and echoes of laughter stolen by the wind.
The thrill and chill mixed as the child skipped further, door to doorstep, heel-to-toe, on a cobblestone path made of silver shadows.
Unseen creatures peeked, moonbeams flickering in their eyes; they were once warm but felt frosty tonight, their hearts rattled with echoes of the barely living.
Each doorway opened a secret garden with petals like whispers; they fluttered and bounced, confiding dangerous truths.
A jar of stars fell down soft, white light—you may reach out to touch, but be wary, the stars sometimes burn.
Will you dare to walk through?