Samsa stepped out of the halls into the large foyer, watching his neighbors skitter up the webs of vines veiling the stone pillars. He examined his arms, little sticks wrapped in a pale sheet, and thought the task impossible. He kept watching the men and women hoist themselves further and further up the veins like little spiders of assorted colors. He approached the vines on one of the pillars and coiled his fingers around a pair, giving them a tug. He saw them as thick, green bars blocking his way while his feet remained hopelessly rooted on the ground. He scoffed, tightened his grip on the vines, and didn't hesitate a moment longer. 

He snatched every inch of the vine in his calloused grip, carrying himself up the green bars with his feet marching up the pillar. His body moved steadily upward, his feet stomping on the stone like a beastly ogre, huffing and grunting in his ascension. In short, steady time the second floor was in sight, but the ebony railing tracing its edge was behind him(or rather below him) as quickly as he had found it; Samsa was not yet through, and neither were his twiggy, frail arms. He found more resilience in his bones than he had ever thought possible as he continued to choke the vines with his spindly fingers. The vine writhed as Samsa wrung it in his wide palms, but it never swung out of his control, nor did Samsa grant the mercy of snapping it. He continued choking the vine all the way up to the third floor. 

Samsa swung himself over the dark railing, having ascended to the third floor. The women in orange and purple accompanied him, attempting to bring down a large stone slab. The entrance blocked their way, and Samsa was in no mood to be blocked any longer. The one in purple was fragile and scrawny, much like him, caressing the limp vine in her hand like a piece of string. The one in orange held it similarly, gripping but not pulling. He could taste the cool air in his lungs and feel the living earth underneath his soles, and yet the stagnant, musty air still filled him, and he still stood o the chiseled stone of a prison. He could bear it no longer. Samsa hurried over, snatched one end of the vine, and shot the ladies an imploring, pleading look. He had to leave.