It could be something – d

However hard the breeze tried to blow the smell into the trees, she trailed it from one street to the next, leading her to a place she would have needed no nose, eyes, or ears to find.  To almost anyone else it was a storage shed next to an old manor, the kind one might keep garden tools or firewood inside.  To her, it was still a storage shed next to an old manor.  What it was did not matter.  The door was short, but she was shorter; she crept inside without so much as brushing her ears against the head.

She’d learned not to get used to the interior; every time she did, it would almost inevitably change.  The shed had led to many things in the past:  great palaces, libraries, workshops, torture chambers, exotic beaches, places that had not existed for thousands of years or wouldn’t exist for thousands more.  Sometimes it did not lead anywhere, or it lead into Nowhere.  What it was and where it led was subject to the whims of a being she talked to and worked with daily, a being she was on a first-name basis with and could tell jokes to.  It bothered her only slightly what that particular being was capable of, and it did not bother her at all [i]who[/i] this being was.  The being did many strange things, things she did not understand and knew she would never understand.  But the being did many good things as well, and so she was not afraid.


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