Jun 2
you are in a corridor. the air around you is cloying and warm, like a blanket that's a hair too thick for the climate. the ground beneath you is almost still, effecting minute adjustments that creep through your sense of touch and balance. before you are three doors. a door of eyes, a door of teeth, and a door of bones. the door of eyes will [ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ] but also [ᴛᴏᴏ ʜᴀʀᴅ]. the door of teeth will ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴛʏ but ɪɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ. the door of bones will (ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴊᴏʙ) but (ᴇᴀꜱɪʟʏ ꜰʀᴜꜱᴛʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ). each door takes you to the same destination, each door takes you to a different place. you will enter every door regardless, even if you don't know it. the tongue is rolling up behind you. how do you proceed?
