The room wasn't large, with only a wooden bed and a chair aside from a few other pieces of furniture, and no decorations or personal items in sight.
Clean and tidy.
So ordinary that it offered no clues.
"Strange, all the other rooms in the castle are in ruins," said Goway, puzzled, "so why is this one kept so clean, as if someone has been living here all along."
Suddenly, she spun around.
"The door!"
Roger looked in the direction of her voice and saw that, where they had just entered, the previously shattered wooden door had reassembled itself, looking as though nothing had changed.
Except for the color of the door.
It was no longer the red of fresh blood but just the ordinary color of natural wood.
"Creak."
Roger stepped forward and opened the wooden door.
Warm sunlight fell on his face.
It was the sun's last rays, not blinding but comfortable enough to feel the warmth.
