Her grandfather had told her stories of the door: “It leads to the place between places, where time forgets itself.” Driven by curiosity, Lena pressed her palm to the wood. The air thrummed, and the door creaked open, revealing a corridor bathed in silver light.
Her grandfather had told her stories of the door: “It leads to the place between places, where time forgets itself.” Driven by curiosity, Lena pressed her palm to the wood. The air thrummed, and the door creaked open, revealing a corridor bathed in silver light.