Theresa dragged her aged bones forth, out of the elevator, down the marble stairs. "Put you index-finger here," she said.
"Whoa, grandpa really got me now." Obeying her simple command slavishly, ancient marvel admiring, unaware the poignant to precipitate violently... "AUW"
"Must have past out, try to remember," I thought. Clearing my eyes vision with a hand rub, a salty metallic taste hit my tongue. Blood. Splashed blood, all over the floor.
"Oh my god," I gasped
"Pussy;" she deliberately articulated slowly," pick up the right-index phalange lying near your left foot. Put it back on your hand. NOW!"
I did just that, entranced by the mere accentuation of her voice. And it sticked, able to move my hand healed freely, as before.
"Welcome, young master, welcome to the twelfth house." Theresa said. "Let's have a look at your legacy, shall we?" pointing at the open vault, revealing the real library.
“In dreams last night
the heavens and the earth poured
out great groans while I alone
stood facing devastation.
Some fierce and threatening creature
flew down at me
and pushed me with its talons toward
the horror-filled house of death
wherein lrkalla, queen of shades,
stands in command.
There is darkness
which lets no person
again see light of day.
There is a road leading away from
bright and lively life.
There dwell those who eat dry dust
and have no cooling water
to quench their awful thirst.
As I stood there I saw all those who’ve died
and even kings among those darkened souls
have none of their remote and former glory.
All earthly greatness was forfeit
and I entered then
into the house of death.
Others who have been there long
did rise to welcome me.”
"I love to recite the last praying words of the dying Enkidu," she said, smiling as I've never seen her smile before. As it was she who insisted on the building of this replica-gate four-hundred years ago.
"Yes, you heard right, 400 years ago."