There was no announcement, there was no fanfare. The doors were simply unlocked. Despite decades of construction finally ceasing, no one came. Maybe it was the season in which it opened - The worst winter in 70 years, if you believe the reports. Maybe years of detours had turned it into a resentment that never really goes away - A hitch in your gate that you just learn to stumble along with. Maybe it was built for the wrong generation - After all, Aldus Masterson was from a very different time. Or maybe the land itself is within the bermuda triangle of ley lines - Where the invisible magic that holds the world together comes to die in peaceful irrelevance.
The creator didn’t mind. For this wasn’t a museum for others, it was only built to be finished.