Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

a picture of a waterfall, the spray catching the sunlight in rainbow fractals.
Here was a shot of an island in a cerulean sea, the trees so thick, he couldn’t
see the ground. Here was a gigantic mural of the pyramids, drawn with a deft
but unpracticed hand. Here was a photograph of a castle on a cliff, the stone
crumbling and being overtaken by moss. Here was a framed poster of a
volcano rising above the clouds, lava bursting in hot arcs. Here was a
painting of a town in the throes of winter, the lights bright and almost
twinkling, reflecting off an unmarked layer of snow. Strangely, they all
caused a lump in Wallace’s throat. He had never had time for such places,
and now, he never would.
Shaking his head, he moved on, glancing at a fireplace that made up half
of the wall to his right, the wood shifting as the embers sparked. It was made
of white stone, the mantle, oak. Atop the mantle were little knickknacks: a
wolf carved from stone, a pinecone, a dried rose, a basket of white rocks.
Above the fireplace, a clock, but it appeared to be broken. The second hand
was twitching, but it never advanced. A high-backed chair sat in front of the
fireplace, a heavy blanket hanging off the armrest. It looked … welcoming.
Wallace glanced to the left to see a counter with a cash register and an
empty, darkened display case with little handwritten signs taped against the
glass advertising a dozen different types of pastries. Jars lined the walls
behind the counter. Some were filled with thin leaves, others with powder in
various shades. Little handwritten labels sat in front of each one, describing
even more varieties of tea.
A large chalkboard hung on the wall above the jars, next to a pair of
swinging doors with porthole windows. Someone had drawn little deer and
squirrels and birds on the chalkboard in green and blue chalk, surrounding a
menu that seemed to go on forever. Green tea and herbal tea, black tea and
oolong. White tea, yellow tea, fermented tea. Sencha, rose, yerba, senna,
rooibos, chaga tea, chamomile. Hibiscus, essiac, matcha, moringa, pu-erh,
nettle, dandelion tea … and he remembered the graveyard where Mei had
plucked the dandelion puffball from the ground and blown on it, the little
white wisps floating away.
They were all printed around a message in the center of the board. The
words, written in spiky and slanted letters, read:
The first time you share tea, you are a stranger.