The night was long.

My bed looks like a battlefield. I stretch and quickly dress in an old bright blue sweatshirt, with a white rugby ball, inherited from my grandfather. I still take the time to hide my imperfections with some makeup, then to put on a small heart-shaped pendant, a turquoise stone with white reflections as well as the blue earrings that go with it.

It's only seven o'clock, the cold invades the room, I sit on the bed. I grab my phone, no news. The white walls of the room are so dull and depressing that they look like hospital walls. It's still raining. The rain is streaming down the window. I'm still looking for the motivation to go to class. History, philosophy and cinema are on the program. I put on my sneakers, I tie my hair in a clumsy bun. Tomorrow is my birthday but it's nothing extraordinary, just one more year. I will have the right to the little words from the family, carefully deposited in the mailbox or on the Facebook profile. A few calls from the closest family, and maybe a cake when I come back home this weekend. No big party, no guest. Just me and my family. I am an only child, so only my parents and my grandmother. At least if they are on vacation. It's not so bad if we don't do anything. It avoids arguments for nothing.

I grab my bag and go down to the canteen after locking the door. I sit at a table. There's hardly anyone there. I'm not very hungry, again. On my tray, a simple piece of bread, a bowl of hot chocolate and an orange juice. Charlotte and Louise haven't arrived yet, I don't know if I'll see them at breakfast this morning. They often come at forty.

The refectory gradually fills up with students, high school students and other students. Most of them eat alone, in the company of their smartphone. I'm going to clear my tray to take advantage of the last few minutes before class to be able to write. I write a lot, it helps me with my emotions. It's a therapy like any other and it only costs a blank page and ink or even a computer document. I write a lot of fanfictions, but also my own novel, the story of a little girl named Mary forced to move into a strange mansion in the heart of 19th century Ireland, because of a disease. She will make many wonderful encounters. Extraordinary beings, animals speaking in the Lewis Carroll style, and a whole world woven with exciting intrigues and mysteries. I'm not a Victor Hugo, I don't pretend to be a Zola, and even less to have the creativity of Tolkien and his reflections, but I must admit that I'm not bad with words and my imagination. Imagination that is overflowing, I surprise myself by inventing certain things.

I sit at my desk, I take out my little notebook of ideas and scribble a few sentences, a few descriptions here and there. I write down the first names I have in mind to assign them later to characters. The people in my class arrive, some louder than others. I don't pay attention. My friends arrive then, they greet me with a big wave of the hand. I greet them in return. They sit behind me.

The day finally passed quite quickly. To tell the truth, the days are becoming more and more alike. I'm a bit stuck in a routine; a kind of infernal circle. We had history, followed by a philosophy course so boring that I had a hard time following. Although the teacher's remarks, explanations are very interesting, I really have a hard time concentrating. The cinema course was very interesting for a change, we are only five students who chose this specialty, the atmosphere is rather calm and friendly, we manage to do activities that come out of the magisterial courses like animation. At the moment, we have to animate a bird in flight. I took care of drawing the bird in question, so that we can then cut it into different models to recreate the movement of the wing beats. It's a parrot, recognizable by the rounded shape of its beak and the length of its rear feathers, which form a train like that of a comet. I must say that the result is rather unexpected. Finally in the good sense of the term, there is a small poetic effect. A certain grace in the movement even if it's far from being really perfect. As our philosophy teacher says, nothing is perfect in this world, even the most perfect thing can find a flaw. If perfection is considered as the absence of defects or imperfections, then it is unlikely that anyone is perfect, because we all have defects and weaknesses. That's the only thing I remember from the course.

I feel fulfilled when we do animation as it falls within the realm of creation, I can express myself, in mutual agreement with the others. We rarely all agree but that's what makes it interesting. I still like to have different points of view on my work. I'm not afraid of criticism on this point. It's not the same story when I receive personal criticism, it's even very hard for me. When I was in high school I often received mean criticism especially about my slight overweight. It made me feel so uncomfortable even though in general I was able to ignore vile comments. I don't find myself ugly, or even beautiful. I find myself normal, although sometimes in front of my mirror, I find myself so ugly that I can't help but cry thinking about these mean comments.

-You're coming Elisabeth, we're going out for dinner! exclaims Louise as she bursts into the library where I had settled down to work a little.

-Oh you should have warned me before, I don't have any money on me.

-It's not a problem, we'll pay for you, after all tomorrow is your birthday, we don't turn nineteen every day!

-Don't shout it from the rooftops, the others don't need to know, it's a bit embarrassing.

-Anyway, everything is known at one time or another in this class, you know that!

-Only too well.

-Well, are you coming?

-I'm taking my stuff and I'm coming.

I take care to pack my things, my pencil case in my bag and then I follow my friend. We meet Charlotte at the entrance of the high school.

-I know a restaurant that opened not far away and not expensive.

-Well we'll follow you.

We had a pleasant evening in a small creperie, We debated about the latest films of the moment, then Charlotte told us about her rocambolesque love life. I must say that we are almost following a television series, with high color intrigues and situations as improbable as each other. For Louise and her girlfriend, I must say that it's less colorful. As for me, well I have no love situation, and I don't plan to have one anytime soon. I have plenty of time to run after boys as my mother often says. And on this point, I must admit that she is right. Charlotte has already mentioned the big Halloween party that she absolutely wants to do in our presence. It would be a game night, with a role play and an escape game, she has already invited some friends of hers, that I have apparently already met, but as I have a short term memory for names, I can't remember.

After an hour spent discussing everything and anything, we slowly returned to the dormitories before the closing for the night of the high school. I greeted my two friends with a wave of the hand before heading to the upper floor to theirs. I'm tired, I think I'll sleep well tonight.

I walk down the rather dark corridor. Once in front of my door I look for my key in my pocket, but inadvertently I drop it on the ground. At the very moment I try to pick it up, a colorful creature comes out of nowhere and grabs the key in its mouth. I let out a gasp of surprise as I back away. The animal stopped in its tracks at the end of the corridor. I frown. Is it a chameleon? There is no doubt that it is an extremely colorful reptile, varying from a bright red to a flashy yellow, dotted with black spots. It has a singular gait. I blink several times to check that I'm not dreaming. No, It's really there. I take a step forward and it starts running again. With an almost natural gesture, pushed by a certain instinct, I start running after it, it climbs the stairs at a flagrant speed and infiltrates into the darkest corridor of the boarding school. I have never been to this floor. I can see in the darkness the two large amber eyes of the animal shining. A metallic noise on the ground then resounds: it has dropped my key. That's good because I don't have all evening in front of me. I approach slowly, making sure that the animal is not going to jump on it again. Without any trouble I recover my property. The chameleon-like creature has disappeared.

A chameleon, and what next? My poor Elisabeth, insomnia and sleepless nights are not good for you at all! I put the key away to make sure I don't lose it. I let out a sigh and turn on my heels, before being caught by a strange light. I then cast my gaze on the dark corner where the animal had disappeared just a few seconds ago. Before my astonished eyes, a rather improbable phenomenon is happening. A handle with the appearance of forged gold has just appeared. This is followed by the appearance of a multitude of small golden veins that then formed a door, with an aged appearance, worn by time, dotted with strange motifs.It looks like the letters of a Nordic alphabet, perhaps runes. Above the door, a delicately sculpted architrave of floral motifs adds a touch of elegance to the robustness of the door. It exudes an aura of dignity and mystery, almost inviting me to dare to discover the secrets it keeps behind it.

Breathless, I approach, as if hypnotized by this handle. I slide my hand over the rough surface of the door, a wave of energy escapes from the wood and runs through my fingers like tingling, these run through my body like an electric current. Under the intensity of the sensation, my body starts to tremble and a wave of heat takes hold of me. My veins fill with a warmth that is quite soft and intoxicating to my surprise. The tingling becomes almost pleasant. Sparkling lights of blue, green, red and white colors, similar to fireflies at dusk, rush out of the door and waltz around my hand before dissipating in the air like a flash during a storm. I can't explain it, but a kind of feeling of peace and serenity gradually invades me, making me forget the problems of the day, it's as if time has stopped and the outside world no longer exists. I feel a special connection between my mind and this curious object that is the door, as if it touches not only the wood, but also the energy contained, and what is behind. This door is like a call. I feel like I've always known it even though I've never seen it in my whole life. Doubt takes hold of me. It can only be a dream. Yet I am here, I am not dreaming, I feel this warmth, I feel this material under the skin of my fingers. The magic of the door is real, tangible.

Is it a sign? I don't know? I remove my hand from the door and place it on the golden handle. The latter is icy, but in no way does it repel me, I am even encouraged. A strange sensation invades me. I feel like the door reacts to my movements as if it were a living organ. I then gently lower the handle. The ancient and mysterious symbols seem to light up in a white color and come alive under my touch. A gentle warmth emanates from the handle, as if it responds to my presence. With a slight pressure and more enthusiasm, the door opens silently, revealing a passage bathed in ethereal light. I am then as if sucked in. I hold on to the frame, I could scream, I want to yet my voice is stuck in the back of my throat. I am pushed to cross the threshold and a feeling of weightlessness invades me. A certain malaise takes hold of me, I don't feel well. I close my eyes, a gentle warmth envelops me, I am as if suspended in time and space. As I open my eyes one last time, the colors around me seem brighter, the sounds more melodious, as if I had entered another dimension, then there was silence, darkness and nothingness.