The Nameless Door

The door has always existed. It is not in a doorframe, not on a mountain peak, nor underground. But it hides beside us, in our curiosity, in the distant and vague beyond. Behind the scenery we take for granted. On that overgrown ancient path, in that desolate little town never recorded on any map. Someone pushed it open, even crossed it. Not out of courage, but simply lost in a strange place. And what lies beyond the door? Holes that can be seen but not filled, beings that can sneer without a head. Even the faces of ancient gods lurking in the shadows—the brighter the temple's fire, the darker the corner's gloom. So where does the door come from? Where does it lead? Once opened, can it be closed? Once crossed, can one return? What is the door? The door does not answer, does not speak. It only opens—even if no one is ever ready to face the nameless beyond.