001:

[The very dilapidated door with a stained glass rose can lead to more than one place. If you're lucky (though perhaps the term's used lightly, in this case), it opens up to reveal the hallway of a home. The interior of this house is distinguished by warm, wooden hues, amber lighting, and the natural sunlight let in through the glass.

There's a grandfather clock resting against one wall, ticking, ticking, ticking, ticking...

There's also a young man here, tall and dirty blond and lanky, no older than thirteen. Maybe you've walked in with Henry as an adult and now you're met with this sudden change, or perhaps this is how you find him. Either way, the door closes and locks behind you both.

He turns his head to look at you, brow furrowed. There's something less reeled-in about his expressions compared to when he's an adult, as though he hasn't quite mastered how to always look so pleasantly calm. In fact, the way he fidgets with his sleeve lends him a bit of anxious nervousness to his demeanor.

Henry clears his throat and says, a little awkwardly:]

Uh, hi. Who are you? No one's home yet, so...

[Right, apparently, he didn't get to keep his memories after delving into the past.]

002:

[This time, the door leads to a more different corridor. Wherever this is, it's far less homey, much more sterile. Cold, clinical. Cameras in each corner, dimmed lights sometimes buzzing overhead.

It's hard to tell, being indoors, but there's the distinct feeling that it's the end of the day. Schedules and exercises having run their courses. Most everyone's retired for the night -- but retired where? Who knows, really.

The corridor itself possesses many smaller rooms, and when you pass one, you hear someone banging a fist once, twice, on the steel door.

Henry's voice (still young-sounding), is muffled on the other side. You can hear him, but you can't see him for now.]

Hey... can you open this door for me?

[Whatever your perfect future might be, in any myriad of dreamlike forms it might take, when it shares a space with Henry's own...

It's dark. It's cold. Your idyllic future is now invaded by endless pulsating vines, slowly festering across the floors, the walls, the ceiling, anything they can grab hold of and wrap around.

The air is mottled with motes of thick dust. Light sources flicker. Cracks strain to appear across flat surfaces, throwing out eerie, red light. All in all, it's not a great time, unless your future already looked like something out of an eldritch horror scenario, in which case, I just can't help you there.

Somewhere in the shadows, there's movement. Maybe someone should pin down Henry and ask him what the fuck.

Feel free to specify if you want human Henry or squishy lichy Vecna for this prompt. I will default to human, otherwise!]