The door seemed rather ordinary, if out of place. It was solid, heavy oak, and it stood in a stone arch frame in the middle of the forest. The magic was in the keys.
They hung from every bare branch of the dead trees, and each was guarded by a raven that stared down at her with fearsome intelligence. She just needed to find the right key, and appease its keeper. Then she could unlock the door, and it would take her she needed to be.
She finally understood what the old man had meant. Not all labyrinths were mazes.

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