The Forbidden Door

The door had always been there. Silent. Stubborn. Forgotten.

It stood in the heart of the ancient library, its wood carved with intricate symbols that time had nearly erased. Scholars and seekers passed it by daily, sparing only a cursory glance before returning to their ink-stained fingers and brittle parchment. No record mentioned its purpose, no key had ever been found, and no one had dared to open it.

Until that night.

Lorraine heard it whisper her name.

She stiffened, the quill slipping from her fingers. A slow dread crawled up her spine as she turned her gaze toward the door. The library remained still, its only movement the flicker of candlelight against the tall bookshelves. Had she imagined it? The wind, perhaps, playing tricks on her?

Then, again—so soft it could have been mistaken for a breath.

“Lorraine...”

The voice seeped through the wood, ancient and knowing.

Her heartbeat quickened. She had studied in this library for years, searching for knowledge long lost to time. But never had the door called to her. She stepped closer, the worn stone floor cold beneath her feet. The carvings in the wood seemed different now—deeper, shifting under the candle’s glow.

"Who’s there?" she whispered.

Silence. Then, in a voice like wind through hollow bones, it spoke.

“I open only for the worthy.”

A shiver ran down her spine. Worthy? Worthy of what?

She reached out, hesitating before her fingers met the wood. It pulsed under her touch, warm despite the chill in the air. The symbols flared to life, glowing with an eerie golden light. The library trembled, books rattling on their shelves, dust raining from the ceiling.

Then, with a groan like a beast awakening, the door opened.

Beyond it lay a city that should not exist.

Lorraine’s breath caught in her throat. Towers of crystalline spires stretched toward a violet sky, their surfaces shimmering with reflections of a thousand unknown worlds. Rivers of liquid light flowed through the streets, casting a golden glow on the ghostly figures who wandered aimlessly. They were barely more than shadows, their whispers echoing through the empty avenues.

Then came the chant, soft and rhythmic, murmured by every shadowy being she could see:

“Find the Keeper before the last bell tolls.”

A heavy dread settled over her. The Keeper? Last bell? She glanced behind her—the door was gone.

She was trapped.

Panic clawed at her throat, but she forced herself to move. Standing still meant death—or worse. The figures paid her no mind as she stepped forward, her boots making no sound on the glass-like ground. The buildings were strange, their architecture shifting when she wasn’t looking directly at them. The stars above pulsed like living hearts.

Something was watching her.

She didn’t see it, not at first. But she felt it. A presence coiling in the shadows, just beyond her sight. The air thickened, pressing against her skin. She turned a corner and nearly screamed.

A figure stood in the middle of the path, half-shrouded in darkness. Unlike the others, he was solid—real. His eyes glowed with a dull silver light, and his voice was low, a whisper wrapped in thunder.

“You should not be here.”

“I didn’t choose to be,” she said, forcing her voice to stay steady. “I was called.”

The figure’s expression didn’t change, but something about him tensed. He studied her, and for a long moment, there was only silence. Then, he extended a hand.

“Come. We have little time.”

She hesitated. Trusting him could be a mistake. But did she have a choice?

She took his hand.

A sharp cold shot through her veins, and the city shifted.

They were no longer on the streets but inside a grand hall filled with towering pillars, each inscribed with flickering golden runes. A massive hourglass sat at the center, sand trickling down slowly—but Lorraine could feel it speeding up.

The man—The Keeper?—turned to her. “The door chose you for a reason. You are the last hope.”

Hope for what?

Before she could ask, the hourglass shattered.

A deafening roar filled the hall, shaking the walls, sending fractures racing through the ground. The figures outside the windows vanished, as if snuffed out like candle flames. A black mist began pouring from the cracks, writhing like living shadows.

The Keeper gripped her shoulders, his glowing eyes fierce. “You must close the door before it’s too late.”

“But how?”

He didn’t answer. The mist surged forward, hungry and relentless. Lorraine turned and ran.

The city crumbled around her. The sky bled crimson. Buildings that had once stood impossibly tall were swallowed whole by the darkness. The door—she needed to find the door.

And then—she saw it.

Standing alone amidst the destruction, its golden symbols now fading. If it closed before she reached it, she would be lost forever.

She pushed forward, lungs burning, legs screaming in protest. The darkness snapped at her heels, whispering things she dared not understand. Just as the last sliver of light began to vanish, she leaped through.

The world lurched.

And suddenly—

She was back in the library.

The door stood before her, closed as if it had never opened. The library was undisturbed, its silence deafening. Lorraine pressed a trembling hand against the wood.

Cold. Lifeless. Ordinary.

Had it all been real? Or had she simply imagined it?

Then, beneath her fingers, a single rune flared to life—a mark that had not been there before.

The Keeper’s final words echoed in her mind:

“The door chose you for a reason.”

And somewhere, far beyond the world she knew—

The door whispered once more.