The Three Sisters' Scale

A gnarled iron tree grows directly from the muck of the floor, its metallic branches twisted into the shape of grasping hands. Hanging from three of these hands are tarnished bronze scales that sway rhythmically, despite the lack of wind in the humid chamber. The room smells of brine and old copper. A thick door made of woven, blood-stained brambles blocks the exit, pulsing like a slow-beating heart in synchronization with the scales. Tacked to the trunk is a piece of cured human skin with charcoal writing that outlines the requirements for passage.