It was an odd door, set in a larch clearing and held vertical by ropes attached to the jamb. Red. Nobody trusted a red door, especially one in the middle of a forest that you could walk around as easily as step through. Harold was in an agony of indecision. He knew it would be a mistake to step through the open, inviting door but like a ladder against a brick wall it was something that had to be done, consequences or no. He stepped through, screwing his eyes against the demons, fairies of elves that might be waiting for him on the other side of who-knows-where.
“Are you happy now?”
Harold opened his eyes. He was exactly where he was a moment ago, except with a laughing companion. He blushed and stamped onward, ignoring his grinning friend. “Look!” he said, pointing ahead. “I can see the Manor at last.”
Jasfoup watched him go before closing the door and folding it up so small that it fitted into a pocket. Harold would have lost his mind traveling through Hell for the last four days. What was a minor illusion of a forest compared to his friend’s mental health?