Fables of fate and fortune

Picture this . You're a poet, one that lives off of buttered croissants and hot coffee and whose life consists of visiting places scattered all over the globe with the money you inherited from your rich grandpa who died a few years back. At some point, you did hit your peak with the best seller poetry collection you wrote a while ago that was especially glorified amongst your famous rich friends (which was why it got famous in the first place). But now, you're experiencing your very first "writer's block" and are incapable of mustering even a drop of creativity for your next book. Finding yourself in this frustrating state, you decide to visit new places in hopes or rekindling the flame of your imagination. But to no avail. The emerald green carpets of grass in Switzerland couldn't paint any image in your mind. Nor did the bright sunsets of the Sahara desert illuminate some plan in that brain of yours. That's how you found yourself disappointed and slightly depressed back in one of the antique infested mansions of your grandpa by the county side. Nothing to do besides ride Pegasus, the Dutch warmblood or play fetch with Sphinx, your grandpa's pet tiger. Of course there was always the library that did nothing but remind you of your failures and the grand ballroom that made you feel ever more alone.
But little did you know that the rooms weren't only holding hunting trophies and Vermeers. They also held the key to unlock that sweet idea you were seeking all along. Behind the powdered wallpapers and the golden mirrors was a door. But not any kind of door. It was a portal that led to another realm. Once you cross that threshold , inspiration won't be the only thing you'll be unlocking. A new world full of blooming miracles, mysteries unearthing themselves from their graves to you and secrets as this eery world's currency. But wherever adventure shines, danger lurks. Will the cost be worth the sacrifices you make ? What's your next move poet ?