(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

are given life and hate, cities of dust whose people are dust and whisper
ash, the house without doors, the Twilit Lands, the singing winds, the singing
winds...” she started to sob quietly, but she seemed all out of tears. “And
shadows... the terrible shadows there be.”
Shadows... a chill ran down my spine.
I let go of her arm. Now that she was talking I knew she wasn’t going to run.
“Where are these places?”
“Where’z? Where’z them places?” She flung the lump of her right hand in an
arc, gesturing at the cityscape. “They’z all HERE be. Doors, doors, here to
everywhere.”
“Portals...” I whispered, remembering Deionarra’s words.
She squinted at me, then nodded. Her teeth started chattering. “Tell you, I
will: Beware every space you walk through or touch in this thrice-cursed
city... Doors, gates, arches, windows, picture frames, the open mouth of a
statue, the spaces ‘tween shelves... Beware ANY space bounded on all sides.
ALL these’re doors t’other places.”
She gripped me with her intact hand, fervently warning me, “Every door has
a KEY it does, and with this key, they show their true nature... an arch
becomes a portal, a picture frame becomes a portal, a window becomes a
portal... all eager t’take y’someplace ELSE. They steal you away...” She raised
the lump of her right hand, “and sometimes what’s on th’other side takes
part of you as a TITHE.”
“And the keys can be anything, I’ve heard. An emotion, a piece of wood, a
tune you hum...” I remembered Deionarra’s words.
She nodded, “The keys, the keys number as many as the doors of this city.
Every door, a key, every key, a door.” Her teeth started chattering again, as
if she was cold. “A key is anything. It may be an emotion, an iron nail held
‘tween y’second and fifth fingers, a thought thought three times, then
thought once in reverse, or it may be a glass rose. Can’t leave... can’t
leave...”
I held out a hand, tried to comfort her, “How did you get here?”
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