I awoke lying on a  red, exquisitely woven flower rug. In a daze, I struggled to regain my senses. Looking around, it appeared I was at the base of a mahogany stair case, in the foyer of a dimly lit home I didn’t recognize. A rich, sharp, mournful lullaby floated down the stairs. The words were muffled but they intrigued me none-the-less. Strangely, it seemed the singer sung more to appease herself than for any listener.

Upon further inspection of my immediate surroundings, I discovered there was no door. How did I come to be here? Was I kidnapped? I could think more on these things later. Right now, my instincts were pushing me to find a way out of the house. Briefly surveying the first floor rooms, I concluded that besides the singer no one appeared to be with me in the house, or at least not on the floor I occupied currently. There also were no windows, which deterred my escape plan greatly.

What to do now? Logic had met a wall and so I searched deep for my intuition. My gut was telling me that the singer was not a threat to me. If anything, her mournful quality would suggest that she was trapped inside the house as well. Regardless of the stranger’s identity, if  I was going to make it out of this, I couldn’t do it alone.

    I followed the woman’s voice to an empty upstairs room.  She was in a rocking chair. Upon closer inspection, I could see that the woman was holding a baby wrapped in a blanket. The woman’s  face was contracted in pain and slightly hidden by a mane of long, straight, caramel-colored  hair. I wondered why the woman was so upset while holding the gift of a new life. She continued singing and gazing down at the baby, unaware of my presence.

    “ Hello,” I said warily. She looked up at me for a second.
    “ My baby,” she uttered. Here eyes were pained, but transfixed on a site beyond that in the room.

    She stood up and offered the baby to me. I searched her eyes but her expression remained that of pain and distraction. I took the baby and watched her step back in a trance-like state. The baby did not move. As I opened the blanket hiding the baby’s face, a small gasp escaped my throat. Grief filled up my body, making it feel as though I was drowning. The child was dead. I looked up to tell the woman how sorry I was, but the woman walked into the hallway. I followed after her down the staircase I had come. She pushed open the doors leading into the living room. On the floor was a Persian rug that she rolled back to reveal a set of doors in the floor. She pointed to my pocket. I reached inside to find a key.    
                                       
    “ H-How?” I stuttered as she reached her hand out for the key.
    She unlocked the doors and waited for me to follow her down into a stone tunnel with torches lit on either side.  At the end she opened big wooden doors. In the center of the candle-lit room was a black table covered in roses. Setting on the table was a baby-sized coffin. She pointed to the coffin and I looked down at the baby. She nodded. I lay the baby in his final resting place and shut the lid. When I looked up from the coffin to receive further instruction, the woman was gone.

     I ran out of the room, hoping to see where the woman had gone. She wasn’t there. To my dismay, I discovered that the doors leading to the living room would not open. There were no other doors in the tunnel, and I realized that I failed to scrutinize the room with the coffin. Breathless, my eyes surveyed each wall. No door. On the far wall hung a rug with a slight bulge in one spot. Pulling the rug back, I discovered the bulge was an intricately wrought, polished silver key sticking out of a door.
    “ Yes!” I exclaimed as I turned the key.               
    “ No!” came an annoyed, baritone voice.
    Turning, I surveyed the room again.
    “ Kindly remove your hand from my head please!”

    Looking down, I find the indignant voice is coming from the key. By this time, I’m a bit desensitized by all of the strangeness going on around me. Who knows, maybe I’m really passed out or dreaming all of this? Either way, I really have no choice but to go with the flow.

    “ It’s not polite to ignore someone when they’re talking to you.”
    “ I’m being scolded by a key! I know I’m hallucinating.”
    “ My name is Chester. Call me by my name.”
    “ Okay, sorry,” I respond incredulously.
    “ What can I do for you, dear?”
    “ Well, I’m stuck down here and obviously I’d like to get through this door.”
    “ I don’t think I can help you.”
    “ What do you mean? You’re a key! Why wouldn’t you be able to….”
    “ I don’t help rude, disheveled women.”
    “ Listen here key…”
    “ Chester.”
    “ Chester…. You see, someone kidnapped me and I have to find a way out.”
    “ Don’t you just adore the shine of my silver?”
    “ Sure, it’s beautiful. Now can we get back to…”
    “ My craftsmanship is amazing, isn’t it?”

    I start to yell at the key for its narcissism, which vaguely reminds me of someone in the back of my mind. The thought lights as quickly as a match and is put out just as quickly. I shake it off. Now I am reminded of something my grandmother used to tell me, “You can get more flies with honey than vinegar.” I never suspected such a corny expression would hold any wisdom. After all, why would I want to catch flies?

    “ Why yes it is! And I can’t believe the detail work! You’re one of the nicest keys I’ve ever seen!”
    “ Oh my, thank you! Why don’t you try turning me again. I think this time it might work.”
    Success. I start to turn the nob, but Chester clears his throat.
    “ Thank you, Chester.”

    The door leads me into another sparsely lit tunnel. I proceed with caution, peering around each corner. The last corner ends at two gigantic, jewel encrusted doors. An anxious, human-sized, red fox in an  iron guard uniform sits in front of them. The fox is grumbling aloud to himself. “ Stupid….Who does he think he is anyway?! Why does he get it all?”
    I weigh my odds: Can’t go backwards, can’t stay where I’m at forever, fox with a sword. Gotta try.
    “ Pssssst! Hey!” I whisper.
    “ Who goes there!” the fox says, eyes widening.
    “ I come in peace,” I say, stepping into view. “  Did I hear you talking about someone being unfair?”
    “ Yeah- the King. He just stepped up and decided he was going to be in charge one day. Said someone needed to lead. No one questioned him, so here we are!”
    “ Do you know how I can get out of here?”
    “ Oh, you’ll have to ask the King. He knows how to get out, but he usually doesn’t let anyone in to speak with him, except new members of his harem. Yep,  you’re either a slave or dead here. Boy, I’d like to see him come down a peg or two.”
    “ How do I become a member of his harem?”
    “There’s a back room the women use to prepare themselves for the King. The King is having a special feast tonight and will want his harem. If I help you get in, can I escape with you?”
    I nod and he leads me into a room filled with hundreds of women, giggling and primping themselves. He whispers in my ear, “Speak only when spoken to and wear this outfit. The King will be able to tell that you are new.”

    The outfit the fox hands me is two-pieces that are violet silk with deeper violet, sequined borders. Below the sequins at the top of the pants is a line of dangling, metal, coin-shaped pieces. I assume this is for belly dancing. The ivory-colored, soft flesh of my stomach is bared by the two pieces, and I feel a little bit self-conscious. This is no time for insecurity however, so I push the feelings back like pesky indigestion. Determination glistening in my eyes, I follow the beautiful lemmings to decorate the King’s affair. At the back of the feast hall, I take my seat with the harem women at a long, dark wooden table.

Glancing around, I take in the indulgent decor. The floors are glistening cream marble. The walls are stone with carved leaf borders. Along the ceiling of the feast hall hang elaborate, flowing pieces of cream and gold fabric. Candles rest in gold holders all around the room. Flames taunt the air in their little dances of fury, nestled merrily on their waxen perches. They remind me of demons dancing, reflecting in the eyes of their enthroned master. The King smiles impishly, pleased at his riches. He spots me and calls me forward to eat dinner at his table.

    “ You are very beautiful. What is your name?”
    “ Lily,” I reply.
    “ Like the flower?” he asks charmingly. I smile and nod.

        The King is handsome. His features are symmetrical and chiseled with the edges buffed clean. Though the proportions seem just right, each part shocks my senses with their intense quality. His eyes are deep set, emerald green, and framed with black, almost feminine-like lashes. It feels as though he’s staring into my very soul, which should make me feel uneasy. However, I feel as if each part of me is being admired with great care. His hair is wavy chestnut. His voice is melodic, laced with an alluring quality of a Siren. An overpowering urge to do anything he asks of me begins to creep into my being. And it might have overtaken me had the pompous poison of his conversation not jolted me back into reality.

    The night progresses and he has glass after glass of wine. He continues to boast of his accomplishments and power. His stories are larger than life and overwhelming. Once again, a feeling of deja vous overtakes me. He announces to everyone that his harem will dance for him. I watch the other women and follow suit. He beckons me over to dance in front of him.

    “ If you are a good girl,” he says, “ I will take you out.”
    “ Out where?” I ask.
    “ If you do everything I ask of you, I will take you out of here to enjoy the world with me.”
    “ How will we get there?”
    “ I have the key right here! I will take you! No more questions!”

    The King calls me back to his chambers that night. After he falls asleep, I tiptoe over to where the key is on his clothes. I sneak out to find the fox guard.

    “ There are no other doors in the feast hall or King’s court besides the entrance and exits,” Fox tells me.
    “ There is an extra door in the King’s chamber,” I offer.

    We enter the King’s chamber and stick the key in the lock. It turns and the door creaks open. The King wakes and begins to yell in protest, but we are already through the door into darkness.
    “Ahhhh!” I scream as everything comes into view. The room glares white and smells of lemon cleaner. I am sitting in a wheel-chair.
    “ Lily?” my husband says in surprise.
    “ What happened? Where am I?” I ask.