< Sideway 8 Hallway

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~fungmungus

There was a handle. You turned it, and with eyes closed walk inside. You can't resist a glance as the door swings closed behind you. You see the number 17 in brushed brass.

You stand in a room . . . or at least you think it is a room. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of tree trunks, of different bark textures, fill the space. They rise up into darkness. No limbs can be spotted before the blackness consumes their height. The only light in the space a small firefly like lights that gently encircle each trunk. The ground is uniformly tiled linoleum of a soft mint green. Somewhere, further into the forest room, you hear the soft sound of flute-like music. You feel compelled to seek it out.

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~clinquant wrote:

I turn around slowly, trying to take in the scene before me. My confusion at the handle, or lack thereof, evaporates along with the last of my intoxication. There is a hushed reverence in this place, it seems like even the trees themselves are breathing gently so as not to break the peace. What is this place? And what has led me to this place, and the number 17?

Ignoring the music for a moment, I walk towards the nearest tree, the linoleum squeaking under my shoes. The unnatural sound echoes out jarringly in the space. I reach out towards the glowing lights, but my hand just passes through them. I touch the bark of the tree, that seems solid enough. The bark is rough and ridged under my fingers.

The music changes slightly, catching my attention once again. It draws me deeper into the space. The trees are closer together here, the glowing lights slightly dimmer. With some trepidation, I approach a clearing up ahead.

(Sorry @fungmungus, my timezone is GMT +8 so it makes replying a little delayed, but I think it's nice to take this in slow chunks. Really enjoying it so far!)