There is a grey door in the castle. Nobody asks what is behind it.
Sometimes, sleepers in their cold rooms, shivering in the winter wind, wake up with sweat beading upon their foreheads. They’ve dreamed of Her, the woman behind the grey door: old and young, beautiful and horrifying, weaving a robe from cobwebs and shadows. She has been there for so long, behind the grey door.
“Free me,” she implores.
The sleepers never say what they’ve seen in their dreams.
There is a grey door in the castle. Everybody knows what is behind it.
Word Count: 95
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and CEayr for providing the prompt photo!
(Supposedly, the door is actually purple, but it looks grey to me. That dress was black and blue, dammit!)