“Under the bridge, in the old city, is a dead building.”

I gave the old man a look of disbelief.

“How can a building die? Why don’t you find out?”

And with that he handed me a rusty skeleton key. I glanced down at the peculiar quest this man had set before me, but when I spoke to politely refuse, he was gone. There was no one to the left or right of me. I was suddenly alone, with a dead building’s key in my hand.

The fog continued to linger, as a sense of dread surrounded me. There was a reason that people didn’t go into the old city. It was creepy. Haunted was what the old people said. Something terrible and dark transpired in the shadows of that part of the city, they said with caution in their tone and horror in their eyes.

I looked back down at the key in my hand. It was covered in rust, obscuring some writing or design. Another quick look around to be sure I wasn’t going to get jumped, and I started to clean the key. Rust started to flake away, revealing a message. I made out one word.

“Death.”

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