Part I

I paced. The room was dark. But since I had woken up, the lighting had not changed. It remained stagnant, as if the windows were boarded, or an impenetrable darkness filled the sky outside. The last few hours of my memory seemed to have been toyed with—or at least, I think it was a few hours. It could have been longer. My cognition consisted of a few tattered and broken pieces—there was a good deal of flailing and yelling somewhere in there, and a pair of dark, smoky eyes peering out of a dark corner.

I had tried the only two doors in the room. One was a closet, and the other was firmly locked. Though I had been awake for a half hour or so, I still felt unstable and hazy. The room that served as my prison was well-furnished, but smelled of ancient velvet and burnt candles. It was difficult to discern the colors, but they were all dark and velvety. I had awoken in a grand canopy bed, surrounded by thick drapes. Horrified by the lack of lighting and the smell, I had thought myself buried alive.

Luckily, I made the attempt to get up, in effect calming my nerves with the realization that I was not within a coffin, but instead, a locked room. All of this meant I was still alive, of course, and I could not quite imagine why I would not be alive in the first place, but a sense of dread was in me. To distract myself from my unknown plight, I explored my surroundings. This did not take a lot of time, as the room was only of a medium size, and the dark prevented my observations. The furniture was antique mahogany and quite worn. On the walls, I could see the glint of gold, which I knew hinted at candelabras, but it was still too dark to tell. I knew that there were windows, too, but no light came through them. Then, of course, I had checked the doors, only to find an empty closet.

As to why I was here, I had only faint recollections. I could not remember how I had gotten here nor could I remember how I had become unconscious. The only trait of a person I could remember was a pair of dark eyes. In fact, the last thing I could truly remember before my waking up was answering a knock on my door. I had been quietly reading in my family's parlor a bit before midnight when the knock came. I, wondering who could possibly be calling on us at that strange hour, had answered the door, and then—I could only remember a shadow standing there, then, a whirlwind of sensory recognitions that didn't fit—horse hooves, a great mansion, a cold pair of hands caressing my skin, the remnants of a struggle, and again, those eyes.

I continued pacing. I was feeling relatively calm, given how little I could recollect about my situation. And my stomach growled, but that seemed the least of my concerns. But a faint terror was growing within—pulling insistently on the caverns of my heart. I sat on the edge of the bed and peered off into the darkness. Having so little sensory detail of my surroundings was disconcerting. I delved into my memory for any more images, but met with a blank wall. It was as if pieces of the last few hours, or days, or however long it had been, were completely erased. I could deduce that I was nowhere I was familiar with, that perhaps I had been kidnapped or taken away. But this was no prison cell, and though it was locked, there was no sign of any guard.

I had just about resolved to lay back down, when the lock on the door turned. The sound seemed louder than it normally might have been, in this dark silence. My heart started beating a tad faster, and I drew into myself, staring in the direction of the turning lock with wide eyes. A crack of light formed with the squeak of the old door on its hinges. It was faint, definitely candlelight, and only a few candles at that. A shadow paused, peering through the crack for a long while.

"Hello?" I ventured. But at the sound of my voice, the crack started to close. I was up in an instant, headed for that one warm piece of light. "No, wait, don't go, please!" I cried louder.

The crack stopped closing, but there was but a pinky's width left of it. A breathless silence was outside the door. I brought my lips to the crack and closed my eyes for a moment. My mind was on the verge of a strong memory, but something—or someone—was not letting me take it.

"Please tell me where I am," I whispered through the crack, "I can't remember."

There was a long hesitation. Then a deep voice came out of the shadows—a voice, that sent a cold shiver across my skin. "You're not supposed to remember."

My heartbeat quickened—but it was not out of fear or uncertainty. Surely, I felt that I was about to grasp the truth of my whereabouts, and where this inhuman voice had come from. The back of my neck tingled, and beneath the surface, my insides felt like warm velvet—velvet that rolls and scintillates with a living pulse.

"Who are you?" I persisted, "You can't just leave me in here."

Another pause. Then the cold edge of that voice again. "You're right, I can't leave you in there. You'd be no good to me then."

"So what good? What good am I to you outside of here?"

No answer.

"Hello?"

Still, more silence. I bent my neck to see if I could peer through the crack. I put my fingers to it, and found that the door opened toward me easily. I looked from side to side as my eyes adjusted to the golden light of a candelabra. It was a long foyer, flanked with what appeared to be doors upon doors. More curiously, there was no one out there. I had not heard footsteps leave a moment ago. There was some strange devilry at work, it seemed. My pulse began to race with a foreign drumbeat—one that spoke of dark mountains and rivers of empty eyes.

I crossed out of the shadow of the doorframe to the right, glancing about at closed doors. Four or five on either side I passed. Shortly I came to a large mirror, which presented the illusion that the hallway continued on for longer. I put my fingers to the cool, silvery surface—pale skin meeting pale skin and a dark blue silk gown fading into the shadows of the hallway. The candlelight formed a halo over my golden hair, offering its eerie but warm backlight to this odd place. I felt strange, almost like I was being watched. But it was so quiet. I could only hear the sound of my own breathing and the hint of a wild heartbeat.

I turned, and the hall again, seemed to go on forever. I walked past the open door. It was the same on the left of the hall—four or five doors, and then, a vast mirror. It appeared that I was in a funhouse of sorts! I was afraid to try the doors around me. I was afraid of what they might contain. I paused in the middle, in front of my former holding-room by the candelabra.

It was an old structure. The rug was a worn, oriental one—a faded burgundy with black and cream designs. I strolled the length of the hall again, quietly. I was not sure who—or what—I might disturb. There was something strangely enticing about this situation. I was not feeling enthralled, exactly—it was more like being hunted. I closed my eyes when I reached the candelabra and envisioned my house. The upstairs hall had been solid—except where the landing began for the stairs. That part had been hollow. It had to be, for the framework of the staircase.

I opened my eyes and began tapping my foot along the floor, listening for a change in the pitch of the floorboards. All along the hall, I was met with a dull thud. It was very possible that one of the doors concealed a staircase—which I was counting on. Finally, I discovered the sound I had been looking for—a hollow echo to the left of the open door and to the left of that particular mirror.

I turned the doorknob, and the inner mechanisms ground against each other with an awful din. Finally, the door swung forward. Darkness. I quickly went to the candelabra and took one of the candles, bringing it to the freshly opened door, shining it within. Stairs. Black stairs. I looked behind me to be certain no one was there, then set to descending the stairs. They spiraled downwards like a tower stair. I concentrated on the steep descent. There were no windows and no apparent decoration.

What had the voice meant by his earlier statement? I would be no good if I was left inside that room? The stairs ended at another door, which I opened. This next place was lit well, with several chandeliers and candelabras. It was a vast hall, furnished with ornate carvings, and furniture, and gothic décor. I took a few steps from the door, closing it behind me as I took in the surroundings. It was awfully strange. I felt like I had been here before. But it smelled like a museum—like ancient oil paintings and Egyptian sarcophagi.

I continued to walk out onto the floor, gazing up at the high ceiling. There was a mural on the ceiling, but it was difficult to tell what it depicted. It looked almost like demons—perhaps angels and demons. I put my hands on a nearby chair, feeling the blood-red velvet on my fingertips.

"I see you found your way out."

The voice startled me, and I jumped, dropping the candle. The wax burned my fingers and I cursed as it went out. I abruptly turned my gaze across the room to see a silhouette standing between two gothic pillars. My heart was in my throat. The figure patiently waited for me to respond in some way.

"What is this place?" I asked the question softly, but my voice resounded in the acoustics of the hall.

"Home."

"Your home?"

"Yours too."

"Oh." I breathed deep, and let it out. "I see."

I still could remember nothing, but the pieces were beginning to fall into place without the aid of memory. I had been abducted from my own home, stolen away by this deranged man, who intended to make me a prisoner of his lust—or whatever other sick delusions he had been preparing for me. My stomach was beginning to flip with terror as it all sank in. I examined all angles of the room, locating doors, but unsure of where they led to. This place was endless. I forced a smile at the shadow, all the while the possibilities of his sinister intentions passing behind my veiled blue eyes.

"It's very—beautiful," I commented, "Our home."

The figure was silent.

"You don't speak much, do you."

He was still silent.

"I know what you want me to do. You want me to cause a scene, so you have a reason to react violently. I won't allow it. I am accepting the fact that I am a pawn in your hands, sir, though I have some great premonition lurking in the back of my mind that I ought to be running. However, I do not know this place, I do not know you and without any of this information, there is not a single chance I could find my way out of here." I regarded him with a tranquil stare, expecting he might either be shocked by the ease of my position, or annoyed.

"Clever," he remarked simply. He folded his hands behind his back, and crossed behind the shadows of the pillars in contemplation.

I watched, confused by his reaction. He seemed indifferent, mostly, but maybe slightly intrigued. His gait was slow and regal in the shadows. I realized he was pacing with long strides among the pillars.

"Whether you run or not is of no consequence to me. Whether you try to escape or not, is also of no consequence," he mused.

"So what is of consequence, then? Why am I here in this place—our home?"

"If you can survive me—if you can survive 'this place,' you deserve to escape." He passed behind a pillar and vanished—or so it seemed.

I gulped back an uneasy feeling, glancing down at the candle I had dropped not moments earlier. What did he mean, if I could survive him or this place? Was it the start of some grand game? He had to be completely mad to be talking in such riddles! And to be so cold and indifferent to my responses? I turned my eyes upward, looking about the room carefully, spinning slowly in a circle to see if I might locate him again.

"And who are you that I should fear so? You've given me nothing to fear—just empty threats. Not even threats—simply shadows of threats!"

The smell of forest and mountain wafted from behind me. As I spun around this time, I gasped and fell backwards, barely catching myself with my hands as they grasped at the floor. There he stood—tall, with wild hair and large shoulders, in a fine evening suit and about three days' growth of hair on his jaw. His nose pointed downward like a wolf's. He was handsome—breathtakingly so—filled with a dark and archaic light. I met with his eyes then—they were the same dark eyes that I could remember from earlier. A hefty sneer was plastered on his lips, and he crouched over a bit as though he was going to pounce on me. A thick growl came from his throat.

"You should be running!"

I scuttled backwards like a crab and he lunged. I rolled to my feet, spritely and limber all of a sudden. I gasped, eyes wide as I watched him pick up the chase. I ran, my skirts a-flutter as I desperately sought one of the doors, or something to fend him off with. What had earlier seemed like a possibly exciting adventure was now turned into some horrible nightmare, and I longed to regain the romanticism of that previous puzzle-breaking moment! If only he had a more pleasant demeanor and understood that I would willingly play by his rules!

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the glint of silver above the mantle piece. I all but thrust myself through the air towards it, yanking down a large sword from the wall. I spun just as he came to me, and he stopped, eyes flashing. That same sick-sounding growl came from his throat.

"Do not lay a hand on me, you foul creature!" I spat, enraged, "It takes a beast of your insincerity to regard a lady's surrender with such contempt!"

"Do not speak to me of common manners, they do not apply here. Here, there are only the rules I set and bind you to! You wanted something to fear, well, here I am! What empty threats now, you senseless woman?" He was still bent over, ready to pounce again.

"I am not afraid of you!" I contested, holding my ground.

"You ran."

"I was startled. You came out of nowhere!"

"I often do."

"I am certain that if you would but explain the circumstances behind my being here, we could come to some type of mutual agreement," I reasoned.

He stepped toward me and I pointed the sword directly at his chest. He stopped moving, but did not seem to care much. His eyes were filled with a reverse-light—a hell-fire burning behind black coals. I was not as terrified as I should have been. I did not think he was here to kill me, though I was sure the thought had crossed his mind.

"I do not negotiate in my home," he snarled.

"You said it was our home."

The correction left my lips before I could think about how it might make him feel. Based on the past few minutes of my experience with him, I could anticipate a violent response. He grabbed the bladed edges of the sword, ripping it from my hands and tossing it behind him. Then he proceeded to back me into a corner. I tried very hard to keep a firm resolve on the situation, but the potency of his presence was like a strong poison, seeping directly from the air into my veins. I took deep breaths, grasping the wall behind me as he came within inches of my face. He towered, and growled low.

"I agreed to play by your rules," I whispered, looking up into his night-bound eyes.

The wildness in his countenance softened, very slightly. It must have been involuntary, for he whirled away instantly, strolling a couple yards to distance himself. I did not dare let on that I had seen it. I did not dare say or do anything now. My heart was aching. The sharpness of my surroundings was mocking me, telling me that this was no dream—it was a living nightmare, and I was to be the prisoner here.

"This place belongs to me," he said, "You may call it home for as long as you are here, but it is my possession." He turned to glance at me. "Just as you are."

"What?" I blinked. Did he mean--? Surely it couldn't have been?

"You belong to me," he rephrased, a bit more violently.

I was at a loss for words. The only word that came to mind was "no," but what good would it have done? Questioning, correcting or negating his statements seemed to be things that only worsened my predicament. The air was beginning to feel heavy, and the feeling in my chest was beginning to stifle my breathing. I gulped back the potentiality of a choke.

"Very well," I answered slowly, training my eyes to his still and certain figure, "I suppose, then, if you are the master here, you will give me further instructions."

"No. That would ruin the purpose."

"Then what is the purpose?"

"That is for you to discover. If you are incapable, you will be eliminated."

He turned, presumably to go.

"But I swear to you, I haven't the foggiest! Why, I am surprised I made it down into this room at all. I'm no good at guessing games or reading minds!"

He had stopped with his shoulders bent forward, his evening suit rippling with the muscles in his back. He turned slightly. Gazing upon him, I saw the sharp fire ignite in the depths of his eyes once more. He set his jaw and turned, flashing teeth and striding quickly toward me again with intent and purpose. I raised my eyebrows in fear at the predatorial aura of his presence. I was not so foolish that I could not interpret what I ought to do in that moment. Instinctively, I whirled on my heel and ran into the shadows of the pillars, grabbing a door at random and pushing it inward.

With a blast of cool air and the scent of the outdoors, I discovered more dull candlelight and vast shadows. As the sudden terror beset my heart, my senses became sharper. There was a bench just inside the door. I dragged it to block the doorway, in hope of impeding his destructive path. In hindsight, the obstruction was probable to only cause him more anger, but I needed to buy time. I lifted my eyes to see a sparkling night sky as a chilling harvest air swirled amidst my breath—but it did not seem like I was outside, for though the sky, the air and the scent were right, there was no sound of wildlife. There came a great bang upon the door, and I realized the now-lost time I had been wasting analyzing my surroundings again. I grabbed a candle, running on light feet into the shadows.

In front of me, there were great stone walls, to the right and to the left. They seemed to go on forever. But in one spot, there was a gap—a doorway, of sorts. I bolted for it just as I heard the bench shoot across the cobblestones, the door crashing open with a horrifying thud. I flew through the entrance-way, extinguishing my candle as an afterthought—light would make me easier to find, and there was starlight enough for me to find my way through this—well, what appeared to be—labyrinth.

Sure enough, there were more walls within, with sharp corners and various directions. My heartbeat was slowing back to normal now—I felt moderately safe, and intrigued by the strange maze before me. I moved further into it without questioning, feeling that if I got lost enough, not only would he not find me, but I might find the way out. No doubt he knew this maze well, but I did not, and so, if I did not take the "right way," he might not find me.

"You did not have to read my mind to know what to do then, did you!" He called rhetorically from the entrance of the maze. His voice was loud, but far enough away that it caused no alarm. "No guessing games, no puzzles, no dark riddles—"

But there is a puzzle—this is a bloody maze, I thought to myself as I continued trying to find my way. The walls all looked the same and felt the same. The walkways were poorly-kept, for they were interspersed with patches of wild grass and weeds. The scent of an autumn must was rising from somewhere in the labyrinth. All was silent—not even the whisper of a breeze shook the grass beneath my feet. Though I was near breathless, I carried on—hoping that something good might eventually come of this utter madness.

My memory flickered again as I wandered. There was him—he was standing in the middle of the labyrinth with his eyes closed, his arms outstretched, a calm look of assertion on his face; suddenly, his eyes opened and he lurched toward me with claw-like hands, eyes simmering with uninhibited violence. I jerked out of the daydream as his sinister laugh rang out on the night, pausing to breathe deeply, listening to the origin of the sound. But it seemed to come from all around me—something that reignited a deadly fear within my soul.

From what I could tell, he had powers which I was not familiar with—he was within my thoughts. He was silent on his feet—silent enough to vanish without a trace. He could control my dreams. He was fast and he was strong—unnaturally so. These were dangerous weapons for him to have, and I wondered at the possibility of guarding my mind from his presence. It was simply too late to consider such things, for now I was in the thick of it.

I rested with my back against a wall, listening intently for a clue to where he was. I was deep enough within the maze at this point that I was sure to be good and lost. Clearly, it was all some sort of game to him. After a brief moment or two, I realized that no sound would be made to betray his location. I continued on, feeling confident that I had made it about halfway through the maze.

He was forcing me to flirt with disaster by putting me in this situation. No part of me appreciated being subject to serving his entertainment purposes. But what choice did I have? The maze began to move on a downward slope, a sign that I was in fact making some headway. In my mind, this place was on a hill—some subconscious part of me remembered that much. I had an image of stone gates and a road ascending the hill to the estate house, or whatever it was. So the change in landscape appeared to be a good thing.

A low howl resonated from outside the walls. I stopped dead in my tracks. Wolves. I didn't breathe. The sound had come from only a short distance away. I touched the wall, finding that the stones were not smooth, and thus, climbing might be an option. But by climbing, I risked putting myself in plain sight, making me an easy target. I heard the sound of padded feet on the other side of the wall, and the click of claws upon the cobblestones.

No other way. Get caught, or get devoured by wolves. The first seemed more appealing at the moment. I hiked my dress up, putting a foot in the wall and hoisting myself up. It was not a difficult climb, for the walls were only just twice my height. Soon enough, I clung to the top of the wall and pulled my chin up to rest on the cold stone. A gentle mist was hanging over the walls, but I could see just how vast the labyrinth was. It seemed to stretch on for a good mile in every direction. The house loomed up on the hill over it, with dark windows and deep shadows. The walls themselves were a good twelve inches thick and for the most part, appeared to have even surfaces with only minor erosions.

The padded feet were rounding the corner as I thrust myself up and over the wall to straddle it, making only a slight rustle of fabric. Leaning my torso forward and gripping the wall with my hands, I swung my feet up and carefully stood, balancing on the top of the wall. Beneath me, I heard the wolf enter the hall I had just left, and I wasted no time in leaving the area behind. From here, it was easy to see where the end was—I simply had to locate the right walls and pray that he wouldn't find me before I found the end. Then it was a whole separate game to find my way out of this place, and from what I could tell, that would be no simple feat. At the foot of the hill, there were woods. I would have to make a beeline for the road, and that was on the other side of the house, which would mean circling around, outrunning wolves, and outsmarting my captor. Hardly a chance I could do it, and for certain, the odds were not in my favor.

The going was by no measure of the situation, easy, but it could have been a lot worse. The length of my dress made the going precarious. At any moment, it could catch the wall and send me off balance. That fear caused my pace to slow up, as I realized accuracy was more important than speed at this moment. The moonless night continued to breathe like a sleeping dragon as I slipped into the darkness like mist. Though part of my heart thirsted in curiosity for illumination, I was glad for the night—I was glad for the absence of that great, round, yellow eye.

Out of the maze rose another low howl, which caused the delicate hairs on my fingers to stand straight up. I gulped. Then, another howl rose from not too far below my feet, and I heard scratching at the wall beneath me. I paused, peering down in the dark of the maze to see two golden disks floating in the black. A flash of jagged white, illuminated by the stars, emitted a dangerous growl. I could feel my heart in my throat again. The creature leapt, but could not reach me. That still did not make the situation any less disconcerting. I continued to find my footing, a little quicker with the aid of my racing pulse. But in doing so, I sacrificed precious accuracy, and stumbled, making the going even more precarious. I was downright terrified, though I had a mind to suspect that was part of my captor's plan. Fear had shown itself to be a clear factor of the game.

As if the current dread in my heart was not enough, a tremulous chuckle shook the walls of the maze, nearly throwing me from my perch. In fact, I fell so far off-kilter that I had to clutch the wall to right myself again. My breathing was becoming staggered. My eyes were tearing up. I was none too sure of how long I could continue this game of his. I felt his gaze again, and turned my head to see him standing with his arms folded, standing on the top of an opposing wall. His presence startled me to the point where I could not react—I was frozen. It was too dark to make out his facial features, but I sensed another sinister grin was plastered across his face. His posture commended comfort, an air of success, and above all, a sort of demented satisfaction. The thought that such a bold and contemptuous expression might have been gazing back at me filled me with incredible hate for him. But that hate was greatly overshadowed by the immense fear which his very shade filled me with.

"Poor girl," he mocked, "You think too much, and too little."

"And you think not!" I retorted. My voice shook with apprehension and a tormented rage as I struggled to remember what series of events had brought me to this criminal's "possession."

"One need not think when one controls the universe."

Before I could even ponder the significance of this remark, he raised his hands, and dark storm clouds swirled in from seemingly nowhere, converging in a great bolt of lightning and tumultuous thunder. It was so sudden and startling that I fell, barely catching myself on the wall. The starry night had become a pitch black abyss—except for the violet flashes which struck at unseen things and cracked like the devil's whip. As he laughed into the weathered abyss, rain started to fall, soaking every inch of my skin and clothing in what seemed to be only a minute's span. I broke—something I had not wished to give him the satisfaction of—and cried as I clutched the stone wall, groveling at the magnitude of his power unwillingly. My hot veins began to run cold in the chill of the storm. Ever his laugh filled the air with its icy resonance, until all at once, it ended with a slap from the skies above. The rain ceased. The clouds rolled away, revealing the calm, starry night in its wake. The air still lay thick with the scent of autumn rain, and I shivered in my wet garments, curled close into myself, helpless. Otherwise, none might have known such a tempest had been summoned by this nightmarish conjurer before me.

"What do you hope to accomplish by this?" I asked to his feet, for I refused to look up at his darkened face, "Could you not be so great and terrible towards a wicked woman? What have I done to deserve your wrath?"

"You have not succeeded in discovering the purpose."

"How am I to discover purpose in anything, when all I can do is run away? You give me no way to discover anything, except for fear and horror."

"Ah, you have discovered part of it then."

I raised my head and glared through red eyes. "Fear and horror? That is not a purpose! Why, it is purely emotional onslaught! You have brought me here to punish me for sins I did not commit?"

"In a manner. But why such hot anger, my dear—you have always craved a place such as this."

"Hold your tongue! I have never even dreamt up such a place. In fact, your home could only ever exist in my darkest nightmares!"

"Are you placing orders on me?" His tone shifted—this one possessed mild irritation, "And insulting my home, no less?"

I paused, not wanting to fuel an outburst. My honesty was pulling at me from ever corner of the earth. If I were stronger, I would have lunged and strangled him. I had yet to discover how to confront him in a manner that did not result in my getting into some form of trouble. My hesitation had gone too long, for he took it upon himself to provide the reversal of our would-be confrontation.

"Well, in that case, I shall be merciful. You have ten seconds to remove yourself from my sight, and continue with this 'emotional onslaught,'" he offered, "One."

No time for questions. No time to think of the wolves below. Now, I was bound to the clock. I forced myself into a run, orienting as best as I could in the direction of the exit.

"Two."

Not wishing to slip, my eyes spotted the best drop point.

"Three."

I leapt from the wall down into the maze once again, rolling so as not to injure myself.

"Four."

Righting my stance, I bolted ahead, trying to get as far away from his voice as possible.

"Five."

I rounded a corner, nearly skidding into the wall, and proceeded down the next corridor.

"Six."

That corridor brought me to another, and I chose to go right.

"Seven."

Left, right, right, left, left, straight, right—I took the corners sharply, hardly thinking of the direction. These turns endured for the counts of eight and nine. Fortunately, the sound of his voice was becoming softer, and I stopped around a corner to catch my breath.

"Ten."

The last number was softly uttered, which meant I had covered as much ground as I had hoped to. As I caught my breath, I considered my plight, yet again, and tried to remember the map that I had seen from above the labyrinth. I simply did not understand how I was supposed to outrun this god-like man in these circumstances. Getting out of the maze was one thing, but escaping his reach was another matter entirely. Concern for my well-being was already wearing on my bones. However, a growl from behind alerted me to the fact that I had bigger things to worry about at present. Not twenty feet away was a massive silver wolf, its fur standing on end as it assessed how to go about attacking me. Eyes wide, I could not keep the scream down as those two golden disks dropped and hovered in the dark, before moving toward me at an unnatural speed. I resumed my running, rounding corners even more sharply than before, feeling dizzied by the chase.

I scurried along like a useless spider being chased by a hawk, fearing that my mortality was soon to prove itself. I could hear the creature leaping after me, its claws pounding the stone with lethal precision as it trailed my steps. The turns became a blur until, suddenly, I found myself at a dead end. Something told me that "up" was not an option this time. I clawed at the walls desperately, turning to see the creature slow its pace as it entered the clearing. I turned, breathlessly, and my vacant hands found a large stick that had been hiding in a corner. I brought it forward, keeping my back planted firmly against the wall. The wolf had stopped and was now regarding me curiously. My heart was thudding against my chest with a horrid dissonance that made me feel sick inside.

Suddenly, chains rattled above my head, and I saw that the wolf was staring over me. I did not want to look up. The starlight became shadowed behind me. A dank chill was slipping down my back—it made my garments feel like ice, for they had not finished drying. Some horrible odor accompanied the chill as it sunk down over me. The wolf whined, turned and left. I trembled, lowering my branch as I dared to turn my eyes up and over my shoulder. Above me on the wall sat a creature which could have only belonged to Hell itself. It towered with enormous bat wings and ears. Its eyes glowed crimson red, shining down on me with a kind of adoring malice that only a killer could summon. Its color was indistinguishable from the shadow which it caused, but I was certain it was some shade of blood. I backed up a few steps, and it raised a chain in my direction, pointing another clawed finger at my heart. Its clawed feet dug into the wall, and underneath its looming shadow, a dark liquid was crawling over the stonework—like blood. I was speechless, and sure my heart was going to explode. It made a sound which was somewhere between a snarl and a gurgle—whatever it was, was absolutely terrifying. It tilted its head, and in the starlight, revealed a set of large fangs that shone like crystals.

Then, it advanced, shaking the earth as it came down into the clearing. I continued to back away slowly. Black starbursts were beginning to pass over my eyes. The stick in my hand was not going to do anything against this foe. It occurred to me that this demonic entity might be some illusion of my captor's doing, but whether it was or not, it was fantastically horrifying. My body was beginning to shut down at the mere sight of it. From deep within its chest, a thunderous guffaw rolled out and shook the labyrinth walls. I was hit with a blast of hot air, and on it sat so offensive a stench that it knocked me backwards. I grabbed at the ground and pulled myself backwards still, using the wall to help me stand again.

"My God will strike you down." I doubted the statement even as it left my lips, but it was the only thing I could think of saying to threaten to such a ghastly visage. My insides felt as though they were trying to escape from my body.

"I do not answer to God," came the deep, distorted voice, "Nor do I answer to Satan." Its voice sounded like it was under some kind of watery fire

"Oh." I did not have a response prepared for that statement. I did not even have a thought for it—except that I was about to die or worse. I found that I was wincing as I leaned back against a wall, fearing deeply that there was no escaping the awful fate which had befallen me in this moment.

Unexpectedly, the creature's wings shrunk. Its ears returned to a normal size. The body transformed. There stood my captor, swinging a chain from his hand. My eyes were too blurry too see his face, but I got the impression that he was satisfied. My body was failing me. I had been fighting the urge to faint for too long, and it had by this point overcome me. There were too many things to comprehend, too many horrific images and thoughts spinning through my brain—I fell, but I never hit the ground. The racing about had exhausted me physically. The mind games had overwhelmed my mental capacity. The illusions, however—the illusions, had destroyed my hope and invaded sacred territory. Only dimly aware, I could feel his powerful arms holding me upright. As my vision faded, I was looking into those terrible eyes again.

Well played, said his voice within my head, but know that I do not take part in any of your common celestial realms—I am my own master, and I make the rules. Now sleep, sleep as if in death.

As the cool metal of chain wound itself around my wrists like deadly serpents, the starry labyrinth faded into a hypnotic abyss, where his eyes and laughter played hide and seek in a square room with no furniture. He had won, and I would become his prisoner; for how long, I did not know. I blacked out.