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Inside are three more doors and a trap leading down. With the rising certainty of dreams, Aldous avails herself of the secret of Ariadne, and takes the ball of yarn from her bag. She was never going to finish that scarf anyway.

Room opens upon room; some are furnished, most bare. Windows hint at a dim moon, though she’s sure she shouldn’t see it in that many directions. The widely-spaced floorboards mewl beneath her weight.

It smells like dust and childhood. Unraveling her way through the labyrinth, Aldous remembers her father paint-stripping, bare-chested, a kerchief on his head.