.-.. -... .... / --.- -... .- .----. --. / -..- .- -... .--- / .--- ..- -. --. / .-.. -... .... .----. . .-. / - .-. --. --. ...- .- - / ...- .- --. -... --..-- / --.- -... / .-.. -... .... ..--..
INT. FOYER, THE HOUSE - ???
Aerial shot. The sheep is the midst of wandering through the lobby; clearly looking for something or someone. When Foggy halts in his steps, that is where we see the gaping hole in front of him; its atmosphere harrowing and unsettling as he cautiously approaches it.
When did this door get here? Unlike the vibrant and inviting atmosphere of the other doorways he has encountered, this passageway seems... repellent in its entrance; the tenebrosity spiking a clear unease within his stomach. His mind screams at him to escape its wraith; to flee the seams of his own terror.
But despite all odds, despite all warnings that his mind seems to throw at him, Foggy finds himself enticed by the crepuscule that seens to call out for him like a mantra. There seems to be voices singing; a chorus of sorts serending to him—their languages unknown to man—as he trascands the undergrowth. For some particular, and yet unexplainable reason, the sheep finds the tune familiar.
The sheep's head starts to pound as he tries, oh so desperately, to forage the zones of utter pitch blackness for the source of the descanting chorus. With no light to guide him through the murky tunnel, he stumbles and topples over his feet. The end is nowhere in sight. The start is forever cast aside; lost in the eternal past. There is only the inevitable journey that trails ahead; its directions labyrinthine and unknown. The singing is etched on his mind; poisoning his every thought. He must keep going.
With every step he takes, Foggy's thoughts become no more than muddled and disorienting. Memories of another life follow. Echoes of another person crack beneath the rims of his mind; carving roots in the soil. And then, between one flash and another, he finds a way out.
As he descends out the other end, there is a new weight that comes with.