Lavender Painted Doors

I walked down the corridor of the old, broken building, and brushed my hand along the smooth wood of the Lavender Painted Doors.
These doors were the only part of the house that were not run down and neglected. It was as if someone had come in, and taken care of the doors for the 107 years the house had been there. As I came to the smashed in window, I felt a sharp pain in my finger. I snap my head toward the last and most pristine lavender door and I watch as my blood soaks through the wood of the door. I sprint towards the smashed in window and jump onto the nearby tree, hanging off a low branch and dropping to the soft grass with a thud. I ran home and picked out the splinter of purple, causing a bubble of blood to sit on my finger. The splinter of lavender fell to the floor without a sound, causing me to realise how quiet the house really was. I tiptoed to the doorway of my room, I peeked around the corner and jumped back behind as I saw the door across the hall to mine.

It was another Lavender Painted Door.