She'd been planning to read a bit on her own. The door seemed to be against that.
It followed her, whichever room she picked. Whichever floor, whichever wing of the castle, whether she got there by hoof or by horn or by flying in from outside. It was always there, greeting her with its plain grey surface. It was always there.
She knew it was irrational. She knew she just needed to ignore it. She knew she wasn't able to.
And she'd tried. Tried not to look at it, tried to sing to herself, tried to get engrossed in the book she was reading, tried to think of a thousand other things. But she knew the door was there. And she didn't want to be with it.
The sky was clear outside. Reading under a tree in the park didn't sound so bad.