Liora and the Door That Would Not Close

(Incompleteness)

Liora came upon a door at the edge of the plain. It was finely made, perfectly balanced, and carved with symbols that promised completion. When she pushed it, the door swung open easily — but when she tried to close it, it would not stay.

No matter how carefully she adjusted it, the door always left a sliver of light.

At first she grew frustrated. Surely a door was meant either to open or to close. But as the hours passed, she noticed something curious: the light that slipped through was not the same each time. Sometimes it carried birdsong, sometimes laughter, sometimes the quiet weight of unasked questions.

She realised then that the door was not broken.

It was faithful — faithful to a world that could never be finished from within itself.

So Liora stopped trying to close it. She sat beside it instead, learning to read the changing light, and discovered that the openness was not a failure of the door, but the condition of her being able to remain inside the world at all.