Prodigal

You stand at the gates of Hell.

They are impossibly tall and beautifully ornate, made of a dark iron that has been twisted into various floral designs. They stand in an empty field that stretches as far as the eye can see. If you were able to turn to look behind you, you would see the edge of a forest in the far, far distance.

Though you can see only more grass through the bars of the gate before you, something calls for you to open it.

Proceed | Turn Back

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