He walked into the chamber.
Crimson. Everywhere he looked, it's as though a blood-red veil covered his eyes. The painting eluded his sight. A portrait of royalty. All his life he sought after the masterpiece, all his life he wondered, wondered if he had wasted a lifetime chasing a children's fairytale. Sometimes it would come within his grasp, only to vanish before his very eyes.
So close, yet so far, he would always think. Perhaps if I were to look harder..
He groped in the crimson-lit darkness. Perhaps a little light may guide my way he thought. He searched, for even the tiniest streak of unblemished light could mean the difference between hope and despair.
Hope.
A powerful friend, a deadly force. Holding on to it, you just might get what you asked for. Grasp on to it, and you find despair, a bitter companion to your very soul.
Alas! A twinkle of light caught his eye, or at least he thought. Could it be? It came from beneath an old door. Abandoned and forgotten. What horrors or dangers could be lying beyond the wooden-framed panel?
'What do I have to lose?' he chuckled. Bitterly.
He reached out for the knob. Rust and mold filled his fingers.
The door opened.
He walked into the chamber...
