The room is warm, yet comfortable. Three of the four walls are lined with bookshelves, filled to overflowing with books of many colors, red, blue, black. The fourth wall contains a large picture window, through which the sun shines brightly, illuminating the room. In front of the window is a polished mahogany desk, with a roll top, and a cushioned leather desk chair.
The forest is filled with pine trees, their branches almost touching the ground. The scent of pine needles fills the air. The only light is the sunlight filtering down through the trees, leaving the forest in a perpetual twilight.
The path is dirt, obviously old and well trod, once upon a time. It has not been used in many years, and the forest is beginning to encroach upon it. Pine needles cushion your feet, giving it the feeling of a plush carpet. The path is so clear that you can safely traverse it without conscious thought.
A river marks the end of the path. The water is crystal clear from its swift movement over large rocks. Sunlight sparkles in the water as it moves quickly away, down the river, never slowing its progress. Several large stones offer a safe passage across the water.
A clay pot sits near the water. Its reddish tint faded by the sun. Paintings mark its sides, images of long forgotten heroes, worn smooth by countless hands.
The key unlocks a trunk, filled with the memories of the childhood of a young girl. There are dolls whose clothing is threadbare with years of love, and faded pictures of what used to be. All of the things that made childhood bright have been locked away as she grows into a woman.