There is the sense, though, as the scene fades, of something like... hope? Something that might actually turn out for the better? There's the glimpse of a lakeside camp ground, there and gone, and then it's just a flower in his hands.
The door appears to be an ornate wooden door, carved with hanzi characters that are faded and worn, perhaps too rough to be read even by someone familiar with the language.
He can get the door partway open before it hits on something on the other side, which is too heavy to push over.
Through what he can see, there just appears to be... void space. Sheer nothingness. It's completely black, but looking at it too long might make him queasy; it's like the mind is trying to assume something is there, when there is nothing. There's no indication of what is blocking the door, only that there's something truly empty behind it.
The door here appears to be more ornate in design. (Russian-flavored, if there is any sort of equivalent in his canon.) Amongst the rubble, there is the gleam of something bone-white, instead of the dusty gray of ruined marble.
It appears to be a fang of some sort! A wolf's fang, if he recognizes it.
That, too, is a memory: You see young man, looking so, so tired. You want so much to reach out to him, to help him when it looks like a strong breeze might knock him right over, but you know that he will certainly reject it. Regret is a knife in the back, a wolf's lonely howl in the distance.
And then, slowly, he can feel his hand dissolving. It's an oddly painless sensation? If he's looking at it, he can see that it's mostly like his fingers are fading into glittering particles, blowing away in some unseen wind. There's no blood, no exposed muscle or bone... despite the effect, it's more like someone has just taken a giant eraser to him and is slowly scrubbing the existence of his hand away.
Door two's design appears to be Scandinavian in style, with a fairly large gemstone sitting atop the rubble... but it's cracked badly, just barely still in one piece.
But like before-- You see a young woman, one hand pressed to her eye. She looks so lonely, watching someone that you know she is too afraid to speak to, strangled in the expectations of her role. Regret is a sharp pain in one eye, the scent of water and flowers as she sinks below the surface.
Each of the statues has a small depression at its base. They're empty for all seven, broken and unbroken, though on closer inspection, he can see that the three intact statues are simply round and empty, but the four broken have more specific shapes to them.
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There is the sense, though, as the scene fades, of something like... hope? Something that might actually turn out for the better? There's the glimpse of a lakeside camp ground, there and gone, and then it's just a flower in his hands.
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He can get the door partway open before it hits on something on the other side, which is too heavy to push over.
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Hello~?
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[tosses a piece of rubble in]
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should i stick my head--hell no.
going to check door #1 now]
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going to grab for the potential bone]
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That, too, is a memory: You see young man, looking so, so tired. You want so much to reach out to him, to help him when it looks like a strong breeze might knock him right over, but you know that he will certainly reject it. Regret is a knife in the back, a wolf's lonely howl in the distance.
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[trying THIS door now!!11]
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The door has the same issue as the other one he tried: it catches on something unseen, a yawning void just behind it.
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STICKS HAND IN]
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For a second, nothing happens!
And then, slowly, he can feel his hand dissolving. It's an oddly painless sensation? If he's looking at it, he can see that it's mostly like his fingers are fading into glittering particles, blowing away in some unseen wind. There's no blood, no exposed muscle or bone... despite the effect, it's more like someone has just taken a giant eraser to him and is slowly scrubbing the existence of his hand away.
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But hey, at least it's not spreading!
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[gets up to check another door. 2?]
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But like before-- You see a young woman, one hand pressed to her eye. She looks so lonely, watching someone that you know she is too afraid to speak to, strangled in the expectations of her role. Regret is a sharp pain in one eye, the scent of water and flowers as she sinks below the surface.
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[is there anywhere good all these items he's gathering can GO?]
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PUT ITEMS IN THE HOLES]
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And then, behind him, a low voice, barely above a growl, more annoyed than anything: "What d'you think you're doing?"
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