You have awakened in an enclosed space.

There is little light. You can hardly breathe and an odor of death hangs about you; the smell of iron is intense.

You grope around for an escape, the apparent door in front of you offering little in the prospects of freedom. But you soon realize that none is apparent. How you entered this place is a mystery– there is no light, no exit or entrance, just a single claustrophobic room filled with dirt and bones.

This is not your home.

You have a home. This is not it. Your home is comfortable and middle class (you decide). It has all of the devices which an adolescent could want (are you a child? No… you’re an adult, right?); and yet, you find yourself here, in this place of place. Why?! Why? Why…?

Then, while you were lost in your philosophizing, the door begins to shimmer.

It is coated in blood. And, perhaps disconcertedly, it speaks.


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