Despite the desperate attempts at blocking it, the moonlight still cracked its way through the window. It slid across the floor and crawled up the wall at the end of the room. And split in half by the sliver of light was a bucket. Old, blue and tired. It’s contents were long lost to memory and now it just stood there in this tiny room, chipped and cobwebbed, living in this forgotten world of creaky floorboards and peeling walls. The universe seemed to say, this is beaten, this is lost, this is the empty heart of time. That was until the exact moment that with a creak, rivaling the power of opening an old book in a deathly quiet library, the door swung into the room.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.