This was crafted in response to the 10/29 writing prompt, "I dare you to go in there."
| I walk along the hallowed halls, breathing in the familiar scents of power, of loves lost and lives lived. This structure is a shrine to powers far greater than I and it never fails to captivate me.Â
Here we are, my traveling companion says as we stop before an immense doorway to the unknown, the sanctum sanctorum of this sacred space. I glance back up and down the corridor knowing that we are not worthy be here.Â
"Is this okay?" I ask, trying to keep the whine out of my pre-pubescent voice.Â
She pushes the door open and it gives way, revealing a room filled with glowing, golden light streaming in through windows adorned with elaborate white lace and red velvet trimmings, as if Santa's elves had some free time and spent it here. The golden light illuminates grand stacks of brilliantly colored materials of every hue conceivable on the visible spectrum.Â
I look at my traveling companion.
"Go ahead," she encourages, "I dare you to go in there."
I take one last look up and down the corridor.Â
"She can't see you," my traveling companion reassures me.
I step over the threshold into this dizzying kaleidoscope of light and color, something only a true creator could envision, let along make manifest reality.Â
Mesmerized, I fail to hear the approach. The rustle of clothing like the feathers of some great bird. A hand appears over me, hovering on high. It clamps down on my shoulder and pulls me from my heavenly vision back into the cold darkness of reality.
"You shouldn't be in my sewing room," my grandmother says, "you could get hurt. Many things could cut you."
I look over and see the self-satisfied smirk firmly planted on my sister's face.