For this first door, imagine (to the best of your ability) an arbitrarily obnoxiously coloured gooey mess - one thats form and appearance is equally as dependant as it is indicative of its surroundings. Picture nothing henceforth. The calming, pitch black abyss of uncertainty. The unbothered goop’s form flows, seeps, and travels in every way something with infinite possibilities is allowed - so between this and the next door is space only barely describable by infinity.
The One walks through to door two’s environment. The second phase initiates travel forward, allowing our second subject unchallenged passage.
Through door three the girl walks. Through each corridor the unidentified flowing object goes, and through all space seeable by sight and light the girl traverses: seen by all. She shivers and shuns away from the sight - eventually falling through door four. However, between then and now our currently unnamed metaphorical goop has its own adventure.
The One shuns the light and will always expect that milky (but black) abyss on the other side of the doors. For this reason, picture every corridor as another disappointment. They are reflective metal halls. The light reaches everything I relay to you, but The One never sees its reflection (shunning the light). It doesn’t know what's being seen. It doesn’t look. Up and down the many many walkways it comes - followed by so many reflections I’m not sure which one “prevails”.
A facade enters through door four - how poignant.
And a ghost follows through door five. She floats down to the water’s surface, stuck on the horizon line between a summer’s blue sea and a spring’s blue sky. Upon the water’s reflective surface one can identify every common shade of grey between a ghost and clouds. To The One’s horror, the girl looks now at the reflection given to her by the light. We lay in the cool water, as her ghostly presence is complimented by the soft breeze. Wisps of hair, transparency that allows no indication of what lies within, and cold. The black abyss and shiny corridors were cold too - But The One never noticed. Nor the girl. We lay here still with the cold embrace with no one but the ghost. Maybe we could sink to the bottom of the ocean, or be crushed under the unending weight of the sky. Perhaps heaven may rain down a fiery rain in response to the wispy cold.
But we are now definitely stuck on the horizon line here.
Through door number six a vampire begrudgingly limps through. To the untrained eyes, our girl has hidden her cold, paleness under a refined gown of normalcy. Whereas our ghost remains in her reflection of limbo, a vampire has risen to further the benefits to the goop.
Now there is no reflection for the girl to unfortunately hyperfixate over, and the light is something avoided as per expectations. Everything is normal as far as the light can see. The vampire is given ample chance for teething - a peculiar situation for The One to bear witness to. Everyone who sees the vampire, sees no reason to punish the vampire. The girl knows they hurt for her, and the vampire likes that.
The goop, the ghost and the girl observe in shock. The vampire gets carried away…
Our ghost comes through door seven. The vampire lays there - burnt and decayed by the light. A husk of whatever was left in the sixth door. The sun rises. So too does the tide. And the ghost sinks. The ghost hid for too long. The vampire bit one too many times. The girl shunned them both. The One had it coming.
Rays of light breaking the water’s surface illuminate our current scene. What was once an array of gray shades is now a cascade of blues, progressively deeping. The wispy remnants of our girl ebb and flow like a blob at the mercy of what it surrounds itself with. The girl falls further and further from the light, missing the vampire so… She, with no reflection. She, who didn’t have to go outside. She, who was forgiven for the marks she left.
The ghost of The One drowns. A death deserved. A death given. A death taken in pride, for the girl understood the shame of biting and hiding.
Through the eighth door, the ebbing, flowing mystery mess washes onto shore. Between the sea and the sky, the sun shines and from it new reflections emerge. The One sees the girl, a gloopy, wet, soggy mess. Burnt from the sun, pale from the dark, bleeding at the gums, and fading away slowly.
The girl helps up our blobbular shipwreck, apologizing for biting so hard. The vampire comforts her, saying she would have hid too. The One helps her up by the other arm, guiding the gloop’s limps to the next door.
I walk through it towards the light in the middle of the unending dark abyss. If I had to guess I’d say it’s about as big as infinity, as far as I’m aware. I see a girl in my reflection, and know she’ll always be a ghost of what once was. For better or for worse - depending on how the vampire feels. I walk along the coastline, soaking in the evening sun’s warmth, pacing slowly like a blob subject to the (admittedly currently very pleasant) elements. Unfortunately, the moon will soon rise and I will have to sleep away the dark. But again, the sun will rise. I will always have the chance to rise again into a warm light.