The pipes groan and creak as water drips down them. She lay silent, listening, the wind howling into the night sky, growing more desperate with every gust. However, it was neither of those sounds that woke her from her deep slumber. Slowly, she turns, facing her door, huddled in the warm folds of her blanket. Opening her eyes, she sees another door standing tall and proud in front of her. She reluctantly, yet curiously, climbs out of her safe haven, reaching for the door. The handle, smooth and round, fit perfectly in her hand, tugging it open, the door swings back to reveal a narrow set of stairs. Tired but curious, she tentatively steps down, instantly, she is met with the cold wooden floor, smooth yet worn. As she takes another two steps down, something brushes past her, a flash of what could've been a rat just as easily as it could've been nothing. Going further down, the smell hits her, gagging her, not letting her breathe. Then relief. As she finally reaches the last step, she looks around to find the stairs gone. Instead, she is standing in a small yet somehow large room. A desk sits perfectly in the corner, laden with paper notes and coffee cups, beside it, a worn leather chair is warm and inviting. The smell of wood and spices infiltrates her nose, and then she sees it. A door. Curiosity getting the better of her, she steps towards it and pushes it open, this time, she is led to a dingy room with one item. A chest. New and slick, the paint looks fresh, and the wood is polished to perfection, so different to the room she just left. As she goes to open it, a sound stops her in her tracks. Swivelling on the spot, she almost loses her balance, teetering on edge. When she finally looks up, a familiar pair of eyes stares back at her.
"You," she finally whispers.
