"Okay, thirteenth on the right," I said to myself, opening up the standard fancy wooden door "This should be it."
Taking a few steps in with mom following behind, I looked at the opposite wall and found nothing "Eh?"
I paused for a moment, completely befuddled.
But I quickly reasoned that I must've just misremembered where I saw it, quickly pacing away and towards both the twelfth and fourteenth room, again nothing.
Did I just not care so much that I directly forgot which room it was? Strange, the fact that I even cared enough to ask meant it shouldn't have forgotten.
I hurried to the next few rooms, again just the standard; no weird door in sight.
"It's fine Trish, you must've just imagined it. It's normal to be nervous right after moving... Especially here," Mom dissuaded as she saw me returning from the far end of the hall "It's just a door, even if it has some words written on it."
I quickly clarified "Uh, no, it isn't. I has to be here some where, I'm sure. It has to be, and if it isn't it's on the other side, it has to be."
Because otherwise, I'd have dementia, I think.
And how could I, a sigma male that slept only the bare minimum amount of time needed, have problems with my brain?
That was impossible, really. There was no way all those beta loser medical influencers, synonym for 'Nerd' and 'Fraud', weren't lying about how twenty drops of coconut oil and a kilogram of kale a day would make me an ubermench and that sleeping more than the bare minimum was good.
Impossible I say.
Without single intent to stop, I opened door by door; finding less dust than there had originally been in those that I had entered.
Still the dust was a constant.
The dust was a way life even.
More like there was probably tetanus in the dust itself, those microbes were the true apostle of the dust life.
But even then, with this truth being revealed, no weird door.
Then he went through all the doors, on both sides, no weird door to be found.
Maybe in the bit beyond the first bit of hall?
Nope, that was... A dead end for some strange reason.
Who knows, the architect probably got dementia and forgot what to make, considering how large this place was it wouldn't be that surprising if some 30 year old was 70 when he finally finished.
Though that was only back in the 1500's or whenever this place was made.
...
Fine, Yes, I have dementia.
...
And..
Shit! I wasted so much time on this! I have much more important things to do!