Mirea Beyond the Keylight

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The light from the keyhole trembled as Mirea placed her hand upon it. It wasn't just a glow—it was breathing. Beneath the cool surface of the wood, she felt a warm, slow pulse, as if someone were sleeping on the other side, dreaming of her touch. Her cat lifted its head, ears forward, and purred so softly it sounded more like a whisper. With a short click, the lock sprang open. The door swung not inward, but sideways, as if retreating into the stone of the house's wall. Beyond lay no room, but a corridor of golden mist, gently moving like water under wind. The walls consisted of nothing visible, only a warmth that carried a hint of metal. Mirea hesitated, but the cat stepped inside without looking back. Its small body was immediately surrounded by a shimmering rim, as if the light were tracing it, memorizing its construction. Mirea followed. The door closed silently behind her. The further they walked, the more obvious it became that the corridor wasn't standing still. The floor slid slowly, almost imperceptibly, but Mirea didn't have to walk to move. At the edges of the haze, shadows appeared, silhouetted like figures: slender figures, their faces blank, as if merely placeholders for memories. Some carried small objects in their hands—a piece of glass, a feather, a folded sheet—and held them toward Mirea, but as soon as she looked more closely, the things dissolved. "They're not finished," a voice beside her said. The girl with the shattered shadow was now walking beside her, more silent than the light itself. "This is a gathering place. For fragments." "Of people?" asked Mirea. "Of everything that has ever left an image of itself. Some are memories. Some are promises." The corridor opened into a hall. No roof, just a vast, glowing sky, beneath which stood long tables. On each table lay rows of keys—large, small, made of bone, glass, some shaped like leaves. A fine thread of light hovered above each key, disappearing somewhere into the distance. The cat jumped onto a table, sniffed at a key shaped as if from frozen breath. The thread above it twitched and glowed briefly, then went out again. The girl stopped at a key made of dark copper, its beard shaped like a broken circle. "This is mine," she said. "It belongs to what I lost." Mirea examined the key. There was no light reflected in its metal, only movement—as if something were floating underwater within it. "And what happens if we take it?" "Then we can find the door. But it's not always where you look for it." Mirea took the key. It was heavier than it looked and felt strangely familiar, as if it had been in her hand before. The thread of light above him withdrew, wrapping itself around her fingers and burning a barely visible pattern onto her skin. "This is the way," the girl said. "But it goes in two directions."