The door opened slowly, with an unhurried grace that seemed to emanate from its own ancient core. It wasn't that he had consciously chosen to turn the handle with such deliberate slowness; rather, the heavy slab of old wood simply began its swing through the arc on hinges that offered no protest, producing not even a whisper of sound.
It was a movement imbued with the calm certainty of something that had performed its intended function for an age beyond memory, and now felt no compulsion to rush. The quiet dignity of its motion suggested a deep, inherent patience.
