There was a door — a door to a heart — and old, locked, and wooden door.
It was not a very large or strong door, but it was dusty with age and lack of use, and so it took a long time to open, even when she set her mind to it; she whose heart it was. There were locks on it, seven of them, all with different shapes... and names. The largest one was ornate and tarnished silver, and its name was 'Father.' There was another named 'Mother,' made of gold, and smaller ones of brass with miniscule names carved onto them. They were beautiful locks. All said, it really was a quite a beautiful door altogether, as doors went.
What was behind it was even lovelier, but few had ever seen it.
Haruhi had buried the keys underneath a tree with images (lipstick above a freshly shaven chin, gnawed corners, falling snow and glaring streetlights) for leaves, and had forgotten where it grew.
Nobody had really wanted in to the little room behind the dusty door for a long time anyway, so what use were the keys? It was best that they remained hidden. Yes, it was definitely for the best.
She felt like telling them it was useless, the door wouldn't open, not without an explicit invitation from her.
How was she to know they'd brought hairpins and crowbars?
Company! We invited ourselves, hope you don't mind.
Haruhi didn't. She stared at the splintered remains of the door to her heart, and smiled.