Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 6

It seems that last week's challenge was a hit, with 4 wonderful entries. I hope we can eventually top that, but I am very happy it spoke to so many people. I am hoping this image will do the same.

Despite hours trawling search engines, I can not find the person who took this photo - the key site that it seems to link to is currently 'under construction'. But it appears on thousands of pinterest boards, so I was able to find out where it was:

The Chateau de Singes (Castle of Monkeys) is really the Château à Cahaignes (Castle Cahaignes), located in Cahaignes, Eure, Upper Normandy, France. Abandoned in 1976.

This is how it inspired me. I hope it inspires you too. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.




Threshold
She could see the cracks of light falling on the floor, so knew that stepping through the door would not lead her into darkness. And she could even see more doors in the distance so she knew it wasn’t a trap, so what held her on the threshold?
It could only be fear – but fear of what? Fear that it would not take her anywhere; that the time and effort to go through and find out it was a dead-end would take too much from her. She had been through so many doors like this, with the light shining in, only to find that they were empty, devoid of the life and connection she sought. She wasn’t sure she could deal with the overwhelming disappointment again.
But standing her on the threshold was no solution; she gained nothing standing here – she knew that. You gained nothing without risk. Sometimes you had to take a leap and hope for the best, and try and not anticipate what might come; try and embrace the moment and have no expectation.
She heard the creak of another door in the distance. She heard the chatter of voices.
Her heart yearned to be a part of them, to join in and feel alive again, feel a part of something. She had been trapped in this place for so long, she could only fantasise what it might be like.
Her toes tingled as the voices drew nearer. Shadows moved further ahead in the corridor she was looking into. They would come round the corner at any moment. They would face her and she would see them. If she could just step forward she could greet them, she could walk with them and hear their conversation properly and not just snippets. But she could not compel herself to do so.
“... just a simple mark on her skin ... hidden away ... fear of reprisal ...”
The voices grew louder
“... broke in ... caught ... there was an uprising ...”
They would be here any second.
“So they killed her for a simple birthmark?”
“Yes, and they say her ghost still haunts this ruined mansion.”