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Chapter 2, A Thousand Doors and One Single Key

"Lydia, dear, we're going to be late! Please, hurry up!" Arthur called demurely. Although his concern for tardiness dogged him extensively, he was frightened more of even a single brawl arising from his timid shouts.

"I know Arthur, I'm coming." She huffed, head hung as she snapped a silver earring into place on her ear. The spiders hung low, dancing across her shoulders tenderly, kissing the shimmering fabric of her dress as they spilled from her ears.

"Lydia, dear, you look stunning…" Arthur vocalized, overtaken by pure awe. Her slender waist was embraced by a cascading onyx dress that pooled at her feet gently like a splotch of ink on snowy white parchment. A pair of satiny, ivory bands framed her shoulders prettily, and her pleasant bust was cradled by a coal whisper of fabric that tumbled down to the belt that met her hips flatteringly. Her ruby smile was mischievous, and her umber eyes smoldered beneath luxuriant black lashes.

"Thank you, Arthur," her eyes bled the coyness she displayed on her blood red lips. "Now. We have somewhere to be, now don't we?" She cradled a small clutch against her side with a careful grasp.

"Of course." His smile was docile as he offered her his arm to grasp as they exited the house, feeling like a king and queen of a quivering world, unprepared for their grace.

Since the day Lydia had been married, her own private world was a flurry, a frenzy of hope and overwhelming despair alike, darkness and light, evil and pure, unrelenting goodness. Her essence was at war, her whole being was waging a battle against the dual half. Although she was not known to be a milquetoast person, she felt as if she had become introverted and pliable, more so than she had ever been.

As she slid into the sleek car with Arthur beside her, she could not suppress the desire to call upon the one person who would give her life that simple spark of life she had been craving since the very first day he left.

The event itself was a tireless charade. The gallery was lovely, drenched in a myriad of tastefully unique pictures, and equally unique photographers. She shook hands with those who mattered, smiled politely at all the appropriate intervals, and laughed with a golden echo at all the perfect moments. To a stranger, it would appear that Lydia Shuckler was living the life she had always dreamed of, but deep inside, her whole spirit was yearning for the life she had abandoned the moment she allowed Arthur into her life.

"Did you see that lovely photo that Jean Cladhaire took? The lighting was superb" Arthur crowned, praising the woman who was so commonly apprehensive, save for her photography. She nodded, although she would not bring herself to admit to her husband that she was uninterested with the topic of choice. On another day, she might agree with him, concede that indeed, Jean's photographs were superior in the choice of lighting, and the style of contrasting shadows and natural light were her signature, but she had no motivation to. Not tonight, not this day. Her thoughts meandered about the recesses of her brain, at odd moments, bringing old retrospections back to the surface of her conscious mind. When was the last time she had thought about the night prior to her wedding? She could scarcely remember the face that pacified the whirlwind of emotions that savaged her the night before she said her vows. She knew it was… Betelgeuse, but his face could not be recalled whatsoever.

Her whole life had been a series of doors, thousands and thousands of doors, and thousands and thousands of keys to match. But there was one key, the skeleton key, that had opened all of them for her, granted her purchase of this unending corridor of decisions. However badly she would want to re-open these doors, to revisit and reminisce on the adventures in days since passed, she could not open them, could not manage to pry them open without the key. And the key, the only key, was lost.