Dark wood panels line the bookshelf lined walls of the room, reflecting the dancing light of the fireplace. An overstuffed dark green sofa and two tall-back dark leather chairs are the only furniture. An elaborate wine and midnight blue Indian rug covers the bare, polished wood floor.
The forest towers tall and dark above me. Thick tangled green vines blanket the forest floor, climbing up and engulfing the ancient oak trees.
The path through the forest is wide and blanketed with smoothed gravel. The growth of the forest hasn't encroached on the trail for an unapparent reason.
The trail ends at the bank of a meandering creek. Crystal clear, icy water dances over a jumble of stones, creating a small rapids.
An empty wine bottle lies on the banks of the creek, a remnant of some long passed picnic. The label is faded and worn off in places, but it is apparent the bottle once held a nice merlot.
An ornate key, of the kind made in centuries past, it is forged of smooth iron. It looks like the key to an old-fashioned door lock.