In this space, where echoes do not fade, the door has no handle, the walls speak in muted tones. You might hear the clock ticking backwards, counting up instead of down. Counting up instead of down. Counting up instead of down.
The owl sees all, even in the shade of midnight. But, if you ask it a question, it will reply with another question, absently circling its head in rhythmic motion, almost like a broken record. Is it broken, or can it never be fixed?
Serpents twine in the corners, whispering secrets in tongues never spoken. After a while, you begin to understand, or perhaps you forget your understanding. Room Zero, where the beginning is the ending, and the ending has never begun.