It's really a pantry of sorts.
We are all sitting together.
Drinking tea and looking towards the swinging door.
Sometimes a chaotic burst has been known to ****** itself through that singular, chipped door of an indiscriminate time period.

The China is out with some over easy eggs and toasted white bread with butter and strawberry jam.
The laughing is jolly and merry.
The swinging door slams into the side of this pantry of sorts.
A home for us.
I stand up to the door. There is no one there.
Walking out of that swinging door, noticing that no one has noticed.
This cup of tea is amazing. Fragrant and warm.
Laughter follows me as I tip toe down the Great Hall.
The Golden Doors. The archway to everlasting life.
A drooping of my wrist, as keys appear on a rigid band of gold. Razor thin, silver keys weigh in on each other causing a dilemma. Each key is opaque with the silver only made visible from the sun that struggles to saturate the Great Hall I find myself standing in. Lifting my wrist proves a difficult task