She was alone with nothing to do. She didn't have to walk unceasingly. She didn't have to scavenge for food or tend her body's needs. She'd bathed. She'd eaten. She'd slept. The house was suffused with a brilliant light and she was full of energy. It was time to explore.
A ring of keys hung heavily on her sash. Jack had given them to her. They gently clinked as she walked. No two were alike. Some were as large as her hand, others no smaller than her pinky toe nail. Some were made of base metal like pot iron, others shone with a delicate crystalline glow even in the dark. There was just one rule, Jack had said. This wasn't his house. He was borrowing it from someone else. He had pulled one key so it stood separately from the rest. It was made of gold, shaped in intricate patterns that looked like waves crashing. Rubies inlaid the edges. The head didn't look like a key she recognized. It was elliptical and had the face of a man scowling at her. He had handed it to her and it warmed her hand with a mysterious heat. This was the key to the master of the house's private workroom. She was not to go in there, no matter the circumstances.
She'd agreed readily. What was one room in this house of delights? One chamber, unlocked by a crystal key that tried to wriggle out of her hand, had a stream flowing through it with no apparent source or output. The water was sweet and intoxicating. It had filled her head with a fey energy, so she skipped through the house.
Another had a tree, that stretched as high as she could see. There was no roof to block its path, although she had been certain that the roof couldn't have contained such a massive edifice <yeah, word>. She'd climbed the rough bark, each furrow large enough to make for a foothold, and sat on the lowest branch which protruded some feet above her head. It was thick enough to walk upon without fear and she didn't think that three of her holding hands could encircle the trunk. Soft, creamy flowers winked at her through the leaves. A light breeze carried the fresh scent of green growing things. Sitting down in the fork of the branch, she thought she could fall asleep there cradled by the boughs.
Then she heard a soft sob. Thinking she'd imagined it, she closed her eyes. There it was again. A cry of pain and sorrow that quickly trailed off as though the voice knew that nothing was going to come to ease its pain. Then there was another cry, forlorn.
She scurried down the trunk, her hands inured to the bark by the calluses upon them. Her knees were so covered in scar tissue they weren't skinned.
Across the hall from her, where she'd been sure there had been just an empty wall, was a door. It was gold with inset rubies. The bust of a man examined her from where it was inlaid. There was no doubt but that the workroom key belonged to this door. Nor was there doubt that the cries were coming from within. Someone was in pain in there.
Jack's warning and his hospitality came to her mind, but she pushed it away. Surely he would understand. She unlocked the door, the key so hot it nearly burned her hand, but when she let it fall back on the key ring, her hand was unscathed. It lurched open. The hinges squeaked. Ruby entered the dark room.