Sleep was an impossibility. I'd slept too soundly on the train earlier, even drifting into a dream, and now my eyes were wide open, stubbornly fresh. The very idea of drowsiness felt like a distant memory.
Adding to my wakefulness was the cramped space. I tried to shift my teacher's arms and legs. They looked slender, but they were deceptively heavy. Right now, we were sharing the same bed, and it was utterly suffocating; there was no room to move freely.
Every few minutes, a leg or an arm would drape itself over me, hugging me as if I were a plush toy.
To be honest, it was comfortable. It was warm, and she had a fragrant scent, but… it was becoming oppressive. Her weight was heavy, and more than once, her large chest pressed against my face, making it hard to breathe.
I'm going to be awake all night, I thought with a sigh.
"Slaps!"
Her hand found my face again, this time with a soft but audible slap that didn't hurt. My entire vision was now blanketed by her palm.
In the morning, my teacher awoke with a stretch, her arms reaching for the ceiling. One of her bra straps slid down her shoulder. With a sleepy, crumpled face and her hair in a messy tangle, she looked over at me. I was lying beside her, the faint shadows of a sleepless night smudged beneath my eyes.
"Aren't you hot in that?"
Her first words, of course, were a comment on my modest, full-coverage pajamas—a stark contrast to her own attire of a simple bra and panties. I felt a flash of irritation.
"No, I'm not hot."
"Hmm... really?" she replied with a teasing smile, as if she knew exactly why I'd chosen them.
I pushed myself up and got out of bed, pulling her by the arm. "Get dressed."
I tugged, and she followed limply as I instructed her to put something on. If this inn was like the others, someone would be knocking any moment now with warm water for us to wash with.
Knock… knock…
The sound came right on cue. I opened the door to find a woman standing there.
"Warm water, for washing off the sweat," she said, offering a basin.
This can't be enough, can it? I wondered as I accepted the bowl. It was hardly sufficient for two adults.
"Teacher… this isn't enough for two people," I said, turning to my teacher, who was now sitting in a chair, lighting a cigarette.
She turned to face me, and her reply, posed as a question, was deeply annoying.
"But there's only one adult here, isn't there?"
"Right—right… only one adult here," I conceded, my voice tight with frustration. She always treated me like a child, even though I was in my late teens.
"There, there… come here," she said, softening.
My teacher beckoned me over. She unbuttoned my pajamas and began to gently wipe the sweat from my body with a cloth dipped in the warm water. When she was done, she had me do the same for her, using the last of the water in the now-lukewarm basin to wash her back.
Afterward, we dressed and stepped out of the inn. My teacher wanted to explore the area and find some of the local delicacies you could only get here.
Outside, the sun was a brilliant gold, promising a clear day without a hint of rain. The faces of the townspeople were lit with smiles and easy laughter. This little town felt so prosperous, I thought. The air was crisp and clean, like breathing in the pristine air of the mountains. The streets were lined with all sorts of shops, selling everything from restaurant fare and clothing to jewelry and furniture.
Up ahead, I spotted a bustling food stall. My teacher and I headed toward it. The popular stall was run by a man and his wife, who were selling thin, grilled pastries they called crepes. A diverse line had formed: a young boy with his friends, a young man ordering for himself and his girlfriend, and even a knight who, I had to admit, looked completely out of place.
"Teacher, I want one."
"Of course. We'll get in line and order two."
I'd asked her to treat me, but in reality, sampling the famous local crepes had been our goal all along. The queue was long, and we waited for quite a while before it was finally our turn.
"Two, please. Your recommendation," my teacher told the owner, as if to say, Give us the best you've got.
I saw a fire ignite in the owner's eyes, as though he'd accepted a challenge. He whisked his batter with an acrobatic flourish, then poured it onto the hot griddle with a practiced style, using a special tool to gauge the heat of the flame.
"Here you are."
In no time, a freshly made crepe was in my hand. The aroma was intoxicatingly sweet, and I couldn't wait to taste it.
"Crunch."
My first bite was perfectly crisp. The flavor was a delightful mix of sweet and savory, rich without being cloying. I glanced over and saw the owner standing with his arms folded, a proud look on his face that clearly said, Delicious, isn't it? That's because I made it.
My teacher was lost in her own enjoyment, so much so that she hadn't realized she was holding up the line. I gently pulled her aside and offered a quick apology to the other customers and the owner.
After savoring our crepes, we decided to wander through the city. As we walked, I noticed a narrow alley squeezed between two buildings. It was dark and looked as if it was rarely, if ever, used. Curiosity piqued, I stepped closer to peer inside.
"A door?"
It was bizarre. A single, solitary door was floating in the middle of the narrow passage. There was nothing on either side supporting it. And when I looked past it, there was nothing behind it but the other end of the alley.
"The door is floating."
"That's Pandora's Door," my teacher's voice said from beside me. She was peeking into the alley just as I was. She must have come looking for me when I'd wandered off.
"What's Pandora's Door?"
"Do you have the book?" she asked in return.
"Yes, it's here." I always carried it in the satchel slung over my shoulder. She told me to open it to page 008. The entry read:
APPELLATION: The Pandora Door
EPITHET / TITLE: The Door of Sorrow, The Quarantine Threshold, The Lock of Hope
CLASSIFICATION:
* Primary: Mythological
* Status: Active (Appears cyclically in places of suffering)
* Scale: Local (Manifestation) / Global (Potential Impact)
* Tier: Abstract
ORIGIN: It is not a creation, but a cosmic scar. After the first collective suffering event in the universe, reality instinctively formed a "drain" to siphon off the dense negative energy so it wouldn't poison existence. The Pandora Door is the cover for that drain. It is the universe's natural quarantine mechanism for the plague of suffering.
FORM / ESSENCE: Its essence is a Conceptual Quarantine Gate. It is a semi-sentient threshold whose sole purpose is to absorb, filter, and contain manifestations of suffering—such as grief, fear, plagues, and hatred.
APPEARANCE & PERCEPTION: It manifests as a simple wooden door that looks worn and out of place: in the middle of a silent battlefield after the battle is over, at the end of a dead-end alley in a plague-ridden city, or at the bottom of the ruins of a civilization. There is no doorknob on its side. Approaching it gives a strange sensation: not a feeling of threat, but a cold sense of relief, as if your own sorrow and fear are being slowly drawn out of you and sucked into the door. From behind the door, echoes of countless whispers and cries can sometimes be heard.
DOMAIN & INFLUENCE: Its domain is suffering and containment.
* Passive Influence (Positive): Passively, it is a beneficial anomaly. It cleanses a location of emotional trauma. Places that are "haunted" by tragedy will slowly become peaceful again due to its presence absorbing all negative energy. It is the silent janitor for the world's wounds.
* Active Threat (Negative): Its absolute danger lies in the possibility of it being opened. All the suffering, plagues, and evils it has ever absorbed over millennia still exist behind it, concentrated in a dimension of chaos. Opening this door would unleash a tsunami of all those horrors back into the world in one cataclysmic moment.
VULNERABILITY & COUNTERMEASURE: It is a fundamental principle and cannot be destroyed. The only possible interaction is to open it.
* The Key Is Hope: This door has no physical key. It is conceptually locked by "Hope"—the glimmer of hope left from the original myth. More precisely, it is locked by the hope of those who have been unknowingly saved by it. As long as there is a glimmer of hope or a sense of gratitude for the peace around it, this door will remain sealed.
* How to Open: To open it, one must create a condition of absolute despair around the door. An act so horrific that it extinguishes all hope in the area will cause its conceptual "lock" to vanish, and the door will open on its own.
* No Intent: This door is not evil. It does not tempt anyone to open it. It is merely a container with a passive function. The danger comes purely from the actions of other beings.
ECHOES IN HISTORY & MYTH: The myth of "Pandora's Box" that we know is an echo of this entity, a story that has been misunderstood over time. Humanity mistook this quarantine vessel for a "gift" or a "box of punishment." The myth correctly remembers the danger of opening it but has forgotten its quietly beneficial original function.
WHISPERS & FRAGMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE:
* "Every door can be opened, except the one locked by hope."
* "Do not linger near it. It will drink your sorrow, and you might forget how to cry."
* "All the screams that ever were are still stored in there, behind that door, waiting for their turn to speak again."
Note from the Scribe: This entity may be the most tragic hero of all. An unknown and unthanked cosmic janitor, who silently holds back a sea of filth so that we can live in a slightly cleaner world. My greatest fear is not the door itself, but the possibility that one day, someone will be desperate enough or evil enough to succeed in extinguishing all hope and opening that door.
Not a creation... a quarantine gate... manifests as an out-of-place door. It was exactly what stood before me.
"Teacher… is the door a garbage man with a sword?" I asked, summing it up with my own analogy. My teacher just laughed.
"Pfft… hahaha… that's a funny way to put it, but you're not wrong."
"Hmph!"
"Don't make that face. You don't want a repeat of what happened at the lake, do you?" she teased, reminding me of when I'd bitten her hand, and she'd retaliated by tickling my stomach mercilessly. "Okay, okay… your analogy is a perfect way to describe Pandora's Door."
She confirmed I was right, then explained further. "At a glance, it's like a janitor, but what it cleans up isn't ordinary trash."
"Then what?"
She told me to focus on the 'Domain & Influence' section. I looked at the book again.
* Passive Influence (Positive): Passively, it is a beneficial anomaly. It cleanses a location of emotional trauma... It is the silent janitor for the world's wounds.
* Active Threat (Negative): Its absolute danger lies in the possibility of it being opened...
It was clearly beneficial. I could see that just from a quick read; the description said as much.
"It's very helpful, teacher."
"Yes, it is," she agreed. "Now, think back to our conversation the other day, about surfaces."
She was bringing up our discussion from a few days ago about the outward appearance of a city.
"The surface looks the way it does because what's underneath is its polar opposite—the very thing that fuels it."
The connection clicked in my mind. "So… all the laughter and smiles in this town are the result of an unseen, opposite foundation?"
"Yup, you got it. And…?" she prompted, waiting for me to take it a step further.
Hmm… I thought. The surface is what conceals the foundation, and the foundation is its fuel. Fuel for what? My gaze fell upon the floating door once more.
"So… all the happiness on the surface of this town is fueled by its dark, opposite foundation," I began, piecing it together, "and that foundation is the fuel for Pandora's Door, which is why it appeared here to absorb all that negative energy. Is that it, teacher?"
"Exactly," she said. "Now, read the second part of its influence again, all the way down to its vulnerabilities."
I scanned the passage once more.
* Active Threat (Negative): Its absolute danger lies in the possibility of it being opened... concentrated in a dimension of chaos... unleash a tsunami of all those horrors...
* VULNERABILITY & COUNTERMEASURE: It is a fundamental principle and cannot be destroyed. The only possible interaction is to open it.
* The Key Is Hope:...It is conceptually locked by "Hope"...
* How to Open: ...create a condition of absolute despair...
* No Intent: This door is not evil... It is merely a container with a passive function.
"It's completely passive," I observed.
"Yes. And that's precisely where the danger lies."
I looked at her, confused. She pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it, the tip glowing in the alley's gloom.
"We are given a luxury," she said, her voice low as she exhaled a plume of smoke. "The luxury of happiness, comfort, and peace..." She paused, watching the smoke curl and dissipate.
"But it comes with a very real consequence. The gratitude we feel, the joy we experience—that very luxury can be turned against us in an instant."
My teacher took my hand, gently pulling me away from the dark alley.
"Remember to be grateful," she said as we walked away. "One day, if you ever feel utterly hopeless about your circumstances… don't give in to despair. Be grateful, and hold on to hope, no matter how small it seems. Because as long as you do that, Pandora's Door will never open."
With those words, we left the door behind, allowing it to continue its silent, thankless work, untouched and undisturbed.