Third door on the right, top of the stairs, strange symbols carved thereon. Looks like a baby's rattle opposed to a tombstone, a tiara above a ring, all embossed on a rainbowed circle, the colors blending and separating all round the device. As HE opens the door, a curious gravelly voice entones words heard long ago: "man, woman, life, death, infinity" HE enters into a misty corridor, reminiscent of some of the more troublesome times in another venue. The door closes behind him softly, finally. Attempting the handle lights a small neon notice: "You need a key". Sure enough, the door handle sports a key hole. Equally sure enough, HE does not have the key. Some decisions are easier than others. The decision to venture down the corridor makes more sense than standing by the door in futile defiance of the sign. Misty corridors demand strange happenings. Even in the most trite, cliched novels, if strange things do not happen in misty corrdiors, the reader feels cheated. The corridor is not a cheat. As HE paces the corridor his stride moves from competent to bold, his legs tighten with strengthened cordage, his body straightens, his hair stands on end. Not sure why the hair comes to attention but then there is much I do not understand and this corridor is just one more in a long line of such things. Caught in the mood, HE begins to sing as he strides the corridor: "Heigh, ho! Heigh, ho! It's off to work we go." Another voice from an ancient past orders "No more drinks for the dwarf." Every few steps, a new change occurs. A few steps added to a few steps sums to a whole lot of changes going on. Would like a mirror to see the result. Arms seem narrower, legs trimmer, hips more pronounced, chest bigger, belly smaller, center of balance shifted so that walking is less leaning forward and catching up as it is a mobile balancing act. Feet seem too tiny to handle the task. Seem to be freshly shaved. Hair no longer standing at attention but must have been walking a loooong time 'cause it is now to mountain man lengths, a thing I always swore to try at least once.