A man walked up the disused path to the castle gate. He wasn’t quite at the right time to be called ‘old’, but he wasn’t quite fit to be young either. There were lines and wrinkles on his face, but it wasn’t in any danger of drooping. Though a grey coat obscured his form, there wasn’t any sign of a gut or unduly hunched back. He could still walk without a cane, but he’d lost any spring in his step.
The man reached the castle. From inside his coat, the man dug out an antique key and weighed it in his hand. Funny how such a small thing would open such big doors to an even bigger place. Like dominoes, he mused, standing in front of the doors. One thing leads to another, to another, to another. A sea breeze rose up to chill him, and he wondered about the butterfly that started it as he shivered. But he still had yet to tip the first domino. He looked up at the doors again, and from the corner of his eye, the man could have sworn he saw