ARMOIRE
You ease the doors of the awful armoire shut. There’s a brief moment of resistance, as if something within is pushing back against you. Ignoring the quiet giggles from behind the door, you apply just a touch more pressure, and the doors click shut. Your heart rate spikes at a sudden movement in front of you, before you realize it’s your own reflection. You only have a moment to calm yourself before your reflection lifts its hand and points to the left, imploring you to investigate what’s over there.