An assortment of keys.

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.