There were no ticket booths, no proper entrance — only an arch of rusted metal where the faded inscription read: "WELCOME, VISITOR №1." When the travelers crossed its border, the letters pulsed and shifted into: "Unknown Targets."
None of the rides had operators, yet somehow everything functioned. Wheels spun, cabins creaked, mechanisms moved as if they remembered the motions etched into them.
— Do you smell that? — Denzel inhaled deeply. SeaAsia, entranced by a fairy tale coming true, followed suit. It smelled—as it should—of slightly overcooked cotton candy, saltwater, old wood, and an approaching storm.
Barely had they stepped toward the Ferris wheel when it shamelessly dissolved into the air, leaving them with nothing. In its place rose a small stand with a message painted in pale coral:
"Take what others left. Or don't."
The shelves were piled with broken glasses, lost cameras, keys, toys, and… the stand vanished the moment they came close.
The attractions behaved capriciously, appearing only out of their own desire or some unknown programmed logic.
While they walked, an unusual carousel materialized, and SeaAsia froze before the procession of loafers, espadrilles, slippers, oxfords, and endless other shoes. All of them enlarged to absurd proportions and mounted on carousel poles.
— I like footwear. — Denzel explained softly, stroking a pair of velvet boots; they purred contentedly. SeaAsia glanced down at her worn sneakers. She couldn't relate, but something else caught her interest:
— How did you make your amusement park so… well, so…
— Desirable? Something people can only dream of? — the owner asked, offering a ride.
— And those shoes aren't worn, right? No smell? — the girl joked awkwardly, thoroughly disoriented.
The carousel vanished and was replaced by an ordinary pavilion. Though not entirely ordinary. It was stylized as a colossal door with a handle as big as two heads.
— I haven't settled on a name yet. Maybe The House of Misty Glass. What do you think?
— A bit pretentious, yet somehow I like it. — the park's visitor admitted, drawn toward the building. — Shall we go in?
— As you wish. — Denzel gestured forward, and they approached the giant door. Just before entering, he pulled a small hammer from his pocket and tapped the handle. A hatch sprang open inside it, and an identical hammer jerked outward, striking his finger hard.
SeaAsia gasped.
— How did—?! Why did that happen?!
Denzel clenched his teeth, enduring the pain. His fingers swelled before her eyes. He rubbed the bruised spot and said:
— Objects feel pain too. And if you hurt them, expect a response. That is how it should be — I wrote it into the rules.
Having nothing to say, the girl shook her head and stepped into the opening within the larger Door-Pavilion. No lighting was provided inside, except for letters blazing across the walls in the full spectrum of the rainbow:
"The room of half-truth becoming half-lie."
There was no furnishing whatsoever. The space was filled with large tablets. A red dot blinked on each, indicating they were moments from losing charge. Their screens remained dark.
— A hall of mirrors. — the girl muttered, deciding she needed to anchor herself with something familiar — something that fit into her picture of reality.
- Let it become one for you. - Denzel answered in his usual mysterious way, and asked:
— Shall we see what the reflections want to show us?
Inside—and outwardly—SeaAsia already felt she should leave. The seemingly harmless room filled her with a terror so strong it drowned her. The kind that hits only when nothing can be controlled or changed.
Denzel was already standing at one of the tablets, peering into the screen, thinking intensely. No wrinkle formed on his smooth forehead—the makeup from the beauty salon masked the details of his expression.
— For some reason it's not responding. I can't see why…
Reluctantly, and very cautiously, SeaAsia moved closer, and of course the screen (could it really behave otherwise, when you fear and expect trouble?) lit up—and she saw… what was that? A video? Probably yes.