What a Shame

Ned left the room, dark boots set beside the door. Black with a perfect cut to show the curves of the sole, and holes were done at the ball of the foot—for air to breathe perhaps. He tucked the boots in, did a quick move of his hands, and tightened the laces. Boots tightened the gripped of his foot.

The passage was broad. Lamp, fueled with oil, are affixed to the wall to Ned's right or left. Carvings below the lamp looked like a master artisan has made the art.

Everything was wooden, but not an ordinary wood. From the look of it, stripes of brown and black turned the walls into abstract art. Ned turned to his right, he was welcomed by stairs—that led him to different hallways, and room. He moved forward and reached for it. The stairs lead to another floor atop, and below. Ned chose to go down. Boots squeaking against the sleeking floor. Still, the corridor of the wall was made of wood.