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[dodgeouttahell]

Hey Room, I'm Back

Code

The Door
Entering the unruly Prince's room seems to be an easy task. The first thing you notice about it is that there's no door. But to do so, you must walk a long, dark hallway. Its walls are covered in dark-toned drapes, tall enough that while you venture further, you become unable to see the ceiling. No sound echoes. It's almost as though the earth is swallowing you.

Almost as though you're headed deeper underground.


The Hall
At the point when you consider turning back, the space widens, opens. There's no wind, and the air is steadily mild, comfortable, save for the soft whispers and the occasional shadow passing by or milling in a corner, minding its own business.

There's no ceiling still. Above you, over lines and rows of tall and intimidating columns, pillars, and arcades, you look at the starry night sky, which looks back at you with its twinkling stars. Somehow, you're not afraid, though you remain in awe of the vastness and immensity of it. Though you find it somewhat sad that it remains distant.

Looking back down, you notice that the rows of columns have changed places. Surely that's a trick of your imagination, right? Unwillingness to walk further inside starts seeping in, lest you get lost or lose the exit. In between the columns, statues of great stately figures seem to look down at you unrelentingly, the gaze flickering with unseen candlelight.

Look further down, to your feet, and you find the floor does something odd. It's see-through, and below are the shoulders of larger, monumental statues underneath.


The Rooms
Walking along the ever-rearranging halls of the house may lead to this one balcony. You can see a mountain on the horizon. It stands alone and tall, fog skimming around the summit. It lies beyond a flash of green and color in the distant scenery, where the vibrant colors of an orchard seem to bask under the only place the sun shines upon.

The other room you may end up in is just a bedroom, with a large bookcase overflowing with reading material that's incomprehensible and ancient, lost tales. Books and scrolls pile up in one corner. The bedroom is a mess of blankets, fabric spilling from a big chest, where a bright red strip in the shape of a sigil lays on top. There are arms and weapons of all kinds lined up against a far wall, a broken mirror at the opposite one. There are dusty chaise longues, cushions, a bed that seems unslept where a dog-skull pauldron hangs on the headboard, and a desk by the broken mirror.

On that desk lies a heavy tome, an ancient notebook full of dogears, scribbles, struck mistakes, torn pages. It's still organized as a Codex.