The Blue Labyrinth
This is how the stories start: the blue oracle spoke a labyrinth, and one of its prizes is this tale. You hear it all the time. I never thought much about it, honestly. I never thought that the blue oracle or the labyrinth or the prizes of the maze might actually exist. Not until I found myself here, trapped.
Here is a thing I did not anticipate: the blue oracle is still speaking the labyrinth. This is not a static place, a speech pronounced and now dead and done. The walls are whispers and murmurs. The wind that moves is a long breath. Everything here is in motion - the monsters, the maze, and me. I think of it more as a song, but perhaps that wouldn’t sound as good to start the stories? “The blue oracle sang a labyrinth…” I don’t know. The song would be beautiful, really, if it weren’t so complicated. And if I weren’t in the middle of it - or perhaps I am on the edge? Of course I can’t really tell where I am. Just that I am in it. I wonder if I am become one of the prizes, one of the things to be won by those who dare to challenge the maze.
I’m an explorer. I was wandering the darkened places, looking for new routes, for new places to go and ways to get there. I’m not really sure what happened - my mind is foggy, and the longer I stay here, the less clear everything becomes. The labyrinth, it works its ways into your bones, into the rhythm of your breathing and footsteps. I remember the way stories begin. I can remember hearing so many stories - from my father I heard the story of Romenthus of Brill. I think perhaps it was my aunt who told the story of Time’s Warrior. It was my grandmother who spoke of the darkening of Pelarga. All these things are in my mind. I wonder how long they will stay.
It occurs to me that I might have gone mad. I might be wandering, blindly, in some demon haunted place. Perhaps there is no labyrinth, no oracle to speak it, no walls that move and no monsters that stalk me. Maybe I am not lost in this maze, but merely lost.
I don’t know. I seem to be here. The walls feel real enough when I lean against them. They vary in substance - bone and stone and packed shell and glass bricks and so many other things. I cut my knee when I stumbled and fell earlier, and the pain from that is real enough, too. I was running, trying to get away from one of the beasts. I could hear it behind me, ragged breath and heavy footsteps. I thought for a moment about standing to face it. Maybe it isn’t a beast? Maybe it’s someone like me, trapped and alone. Maybe anything, though. I’m armed only with a knife, and I’m not very scrappy. I ran.
I’ve seen some of the beasts. They’re definitely not friendly - or at the least, I don’t really want to risk running afoul of those sharpened teeth and flashing eyes. Every treasure is guarded. Every prize has a cost. I know how the stories go. Maybe they’re really quite nice, and would offer me a cup of tea, but the way they prowl, the clicking of their claws on ground… it isn’t a strain I’d like to harmonize with.
Maybe I wandered too close to a legend, and that’s how I ended up here. Maybe I just heard her and that was enough. If you hear the words of the blue oracle, the labyrinth she’s speaking, do you find yourself here? Maybe I chose to be here, and I just can’t remember.
Here is a thing I did not anticipate: the blue oracle is still speaking the labyrinth. This is not a static place, a speech pronounced and now dead and done. The walls are whispers and murmurs. The wind that moves is a long breath. Everything here is in motion - the monsters, the maze, and me. I think of it more as a song, but perhaps that wouldn’t sound as good to start the stories? “The blue oracle sang a labyrinth…” I don’t know. The song would be beautiful, really, if it weren’t so complicated. And if I weren’t in the middle of it - or perhaps I am on the edge? Of course I can’t really tell where I am. Just that I am in it. I wonder if I am become one of the prizes, one of the things to be won by those who dare to challenge the maze.
I’m an explorer. I was wandering the darkened places, looking for new routes, for new places to go and ways to get there. I’m not really sure what happened - my mind is foggy, and the longer I stay here, the less clear everything becomes. The labyrinth, it works its ways into your bones, into the rhythm of your breathing and footsteps. I remember the way stories begin. I can remember hearing so many stories - from my father I heard the story of Romenthus of Brill. I think perhaps it was my aunt who told the story of Time’s Warrior. It was my grandmother who spoke of the darkening of Pelarga. All these things are in my mind. I wonder how long they will stay.
It occurs to me that I might have gone mad. I might be wandering, blindly, in some demon haunted place. Perhaps there is no labyrinth, no oracle to speak it, no walls that move and no monsters that stalk me. Maybe I am not lost in this maze, but merely lost.
I don’t know. I seem to be here. The walls feel real enough when I lean against them. They vary in substance - bone and stone and packed shell and glass bricks and so many other things. I cut my knee when I stumbled and fell earlier, and the pain from that is real enough, too. I was running, trying to get away from one of the beasts. I could hear it behind me, ragged breath and heavy footsteps. I thought for a moment about standing to face it. Maybe it isn’t a beast? Maybe it’s someone like me, trapped and alone. Maybe anything, though. I’m armed only with a knife, and I’m not very scrappy. I ran.
I’ve seen some of the beasts. They’re definitely not friendly - or at the least, I don’t really want to risk running afoul of those sharpened teeth and flashing eyes. Every treasure is guarded. Every prize has a cost. I know how the stories go. Maybe they’re really quite nice, and would offer me a cup of tea, but the way they prowl, the clicking of their claws on ground… it isn’t a strain I’d like to harmonize with.
Maybe I wandered too close to a legend, and that’s how I ended up here. Maybe I just heard her and that was enough. If you hear the words of the blue oracle, the labyrinth she’s speaking, do you find yourself here? Maybe I chose to be here, and I just can’t remember.