We call together the watching spirits from their place of silent solitude to observe the strands of thought gathered together to create this thing we call time. Their presence opens a door, long held shut, a door to nowhere, bound by shear force of will.
She must remember the place she came from, she must feel the screams she ran from.
Torn asunder, the doors frame shivers and crumbles away, leaving nothing but a flood of memory, pure streaming, gathering strength.
Limbo is no longer as substantial as it seemed, it's sharp corners and jagged edges folding in.
Stepping from the waiting room, she takes one painful step after another, but at least she feels every step.
