Ingress of the House of Arch

As she walks the light grows brighter (or maybe it is only that her eyes are better adjusted) and the number of butterflies --

Does it double?

Triple?

The air, at least, has grown incrementally warmer, and the smell of honeysuckle and violets fills the air.

"Be welcome, Opener," says the Lion, voice deep and rumbling and warm, mane flashing tawny-gold in the ever-increasing light.

"Though you shall not linger here overlong."

The next time pays for all.

But that, of course, is another story, and shall be told another time.

Here and now --