Dear beautiful stranger: You walk across miles and miles of endless desolete landscape because you yearn to find that beacon of hope. One day you chance upon a castle and you think that perhaps this might be the promise land afterall. You run into the castle and find the closest flight of stairs that you can. You run up the stairs and one storey, two storey, three storey... the ecstasy of anticipation culminates in you and just as you reach the top level, you realize that the door to the top of the castle is locked dead.