It’s not that it’s impossible. It’s that it’s too much.
Gold. Everything is gold.
The floor beneath my boots is gold, not painted, not plated, but solid gold polished to a mirror shine. I can see my reflection in it, distorted and wavering. The walls are gold, rising at least thirty feet to a ceiling that’s also gold, inlaid with intricate lines and swirls of a darker, deeper gold.
The light comes from everywhere and nowhere, no visible source, but everything is illuminated with a warm, heavy glow making the air feel thick. Rich. Like breathing in wealth itself.
The temperature is different too. Not cold like the bank lobby, but warm. Almost uncomfortably so. Like too many bodies in too small a space, except there’s no one here but me.
And the smell.
Metal. That’s the predominant note, the sharp, mineral scent of gold and brass and copper. But underneath it, there’s something else. Something organic. Incense, maybe. Or smoke. Or the faint, unsettling scent of something burning very far away.
I take a step forward, and my boot echoes in the vast space. The sound carries, bounces off walls and comes back to me distorted.
I’m in a hallway. I think. It’s wide, maybe fifteen feet across, with doors on either side. Lots of doors. More doors than should fit in a space this size. They’re all identical: tall, gold, with no handles or knobs or any visible way to open them. Just smooth metal surfaces that reflect my image back at me a hundred times over.
Behind me, the door I came through has vanished. Just another gold wall, seamless and unbroken.
No way back. No escape.
The hallway stretches ahead of me, straight at first, then curving slightly to the right. I can’t see the end. Can’t see anything except more gold walls, more identical doors, more reflections of myself looking small and out of place in all this wealth.
Obviously, it’s designed to be disorienting. All the doors look the same. The hallway curves just enough that you lose track of where you came from. The gold reflects everything, distorts everything, makes it impossible to get your bearings.
A maze. That’s what this is. A beautiful, oppressive maze designed to keep you trapped.
Or to make you so turned around that you’re grateful when someone comes to guide you. I stand there for a moment, trying to orient myself. Trying to figure out if there’s a pattern to the doors, a way to navigate this space. But every door is identical. Every stretch of hallway looks the same. And the reflections, my face looking back at me from a hundred golden surfaces, makes it impossible to focus.
“Lost already?”
The voice comes from behind me. I spin, hand going instinctively to my belt where my knife is,
It’s not Auric, whom I expect to greet me, or at least taunt me, after our last encounter.
The woman standing in the hallway is small, maybe five feet tall, with skin the color of birch and eyes that are completely black. Not dark brown, but black. Like looking into a starless sky. Her hair is white, pulled back in a severe bun, and she’s wearing what looks like a servant’s uniform from a hundred years ago, long black dress, white apron, sensible shoes.
She’s not human. I can tell immediately. There’s something about the way she stands, the way she doesn’t quite cast ashadow despite the omnipresent light, the way her eyes reflect nothing.
“I’m here for Croesus,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I was told to report at noon.”
“You’re on time.” Her voice is flat, emotionless. Like she’s reciting lines she’s said a thousand times before. “Follow me.”
She turns and walks down the hallway without checking to see if I’m following. I hesitate for just a second, every instinct screaming that following strange supernatural beings deeper into a maze is a bad idea, then go after her.
What choice do I have?
She moves quickly despite her small stature, her shoes making no sound on the golden floor. I follow, my boots echoing with every step. The hallway curves, branches, curves again. We pass dozens of identical doors. I try to keep track of the turns, to build a mental map, but it’s useless. Left, right, left, straight for a while, right again, within two minutes I’m completely disoriented.
Exactly as designed.
“How big is this place?” I ask more to break the oppressive silence than because I expect an answer.
“The house is as large as it needs to be,” the woman says without looking back.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’ll get.”
