The main door is closed. I mount the steps and raise my hand to knock, but I stop short at the last moment. Knocking feels silly. But should I just…?
I reach out, grip the ornate knob, and pull.
It opens.
Like it was always meant to welcome me in.
I step inside, moving slowly and keeping my eyes open. The door swings shut behind me on silent hinges.
There are no windows in the passageway, so the only light comes from dim red lamp sconces mounted on the velvet walls. The wainscoting is black and the mirrors on either side of the corridor make me feel like I’ve entered an old madam’s brothel. They reflect a million different versions of me up and down the space, each one washed in red.
I follow the corridor down. Just before I make the left-hand turn, I think I feel a flutter of moveme
