Marlow first manifested as a toddler.
He would walk around the house, pointing at things, and say, “Zzhoo,” which we quickly learned meant “Door.” If Terra or I, or even his six-year-old sister, confirmed that it was a door, it would be one. It didn’t matter that the original object had been a shoe, or a box, or a lego, it would become a door. (We almost lost a cat this way, but fortunately Marlow knew how to sign the word for cat so was able to transform the poor tabby back before fungibility was lost.)
Marlow died as a teen – it is rare for the most powerful wizards to reach adulthood. (He did go out in a blaze of glory, however. All of the women in our village still remember the date of his disappearance with a wicked smile on their faces. Davinia, his special crush, still bears children with freckles and a nose that bears an uncanny resemblance to Marlow’s own. Three men have departed despite her cries of unwavering fidelity.) Despite our family’s best efforts, he left behind a house full of doors.
It was years later, after we’d become grandparents twice over, that Terra and I started opening the doors. Most rooms were empty, but occasionally we’d find an earring or something else we’d lost many years ago. It became a game for us. We kept score based on who found the most interesting objects. It was Terra who opened the door that contained the mounds of keys, and put the score forever out of my reach.
That door had originally been a shoe, I am certain.
