Solitude paced, brooded, glowered, shrugged. Pettishly showering dust upon sumptuous draperies thus wreaking havoc among the fiefdoms of mites; Festooning corridors with mold and lacing windows with spider spun castoffs; Solitude sought serenity and located the entry to ennui. Banging shutters and rusting hinges did little to alleviate the suffocation of boredom and so Solitude continued to creep throughout the castle.
Coming upon a door with a once proud, now tenuous connection to an ancient arboreal cousin, a connection that could be dimly traced within its knotty surface, Solitude paused. The knots, or rather knot, spread from an off center midpoint sending out ripples of woodiness which extended beyond the portals edges seeming to clasp the frame as in a clinging embrace. In reverse fashion it resembled the enfoldment of petals.
Solitude stretched, extended, inched a gnarled finger out from within age bitten sleeves to trace this curious whorl. Curious too were the garments of solitude. Not garments but cocoons. Not cocoons more the skeletal remains of leaves fancifully threaded together with spider spit and caterpillar casings. Layer upon layer had been carefully added to, in this way marking the passage of time in Solitude's realm. If such were a true and accurate representation than Solitude had existed, subsisted, persisted with unfathomable tenacity.
Solitude to all outward observation was a shambling pile of castoff vegetal detritus. Crisp crackles were punctuated by whispering slithers and dry husked mutters. Yet underneath the layers of desiccated autumnal funereal fashion lay a moist, green and glistening promise of something more. Whether this something more boded of decay or fruition was at present unknown.
Sighing, Solitude withdrew her finger, her spider limb, away from the static whorl. Shivering slightly she prepared to continue her wanderings then froze. A crack appeared. Dry flesh peeled. Someone had entered her domain at last.