They
say the Royal Keymaster has all the keys. Shining or aged, tarnished
beyond repair or never handled at all yet; crooked, twisted, straight or
folded - thousands of them had passed through his subtle, knowing hands
over the course of centuries.
Most come and go, but some stay, when their lock is suddenly destroyed, lost or otherwise phased out from existence.
They
remain as a memento of another, impossible reality, a link to the door
that cannot be opened anymore. But, perhaps, it can be, or else, what's
the point?
Nobody except the Keymaster seems to know that for certain. Nobody is certain, that he, himself, does.
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