Laura Loveloose sauntered into her boudoir. She was wearing a loose fitting negligee that accentuated her curvaceous body.

An older man, in his 40’s, sat on the edge of the king-sized bed. He looked up at her and asked, “Where did you leave it?”

“You know where it is,” she responded.

He rose from the bed and crossed the room, slipping between the satin sheets strung from the ceiling. He tugged at the stuck door of the armoire until it gave way.

He sighed and pulled the key out from under his nightshirt. He fumbled around in the dim light of the armoire until he found the keyhole in the back. He inserted the cold brass and turned. The back panel of the armoire slid open and the man felt the searing heat of the infernal world beyond on his face and forearm.

The man called back to the woman, “You had to leave the chalice on Char, didn’t you?”

“There’s no place safer for it!” she replied brightly–and leapt through the portal, grabbing his nightshirt. “Well, let’s go!” And she dragged them both, screaming–one with delight, the other in terror–into Char.

But the portal was unstable. It didn’t drop people off at the same spot every time. The pair found themselves falling into one of the world’s many rivers of lava. They died slowly, screaming in pain.