I swallow the bronze key to the new door. I installed it to keep the omitted truths firmly locked away.
The room only houses the memory of ghosts. The remembrance of divinity.
I tell myself it's best to keep it closed against myself.
And everyone.
My stomach roils violently. Not from foreign metal. I unconsciously lay a hand against my belly, trying to trap the fear there. I feel the gnashing teeth of horror try and claw it's way up my throat. Rising as the nightly dream-specters do.
I hold inhumanly, virtuously still. I try and combat the suffocating, terrifying silence of the locked room. My defense is my poorly-honed, bronze will.
Mettle too soft to serve as a weapon.
11:00 p.m. - 2014-05-20
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