[b]Adila![/b]

A labyrinth is unicursal. There is one way through, no branching paths. You picked that factoid up as a child; it was part of a theological debate about the nature of the future, as to whether it was a maze with so many different branching paths that a princess must choose between, or whether it was a labyrinth that wound through strange twists and turns of fate to the place where you were always going to end up.

Language matters. Eupheria called this a nightmare labyrinth. She probably just means it’s full of twists and turns and you’re supposed to stay confused and discombobulated, but... but maybe it’s another layer of her jokes. That you’re all going to end up at the same place, one way or another.

The contrast between the cold, brackish water and your warm scales is one that it is easy to lose yourself in. There isn’t silence, because there’s cricket-song and frog-song and the beat of Dandy’s heart, which settles into the same pace as yours as she lies on your back, head down to keep her mane of frizzy hair from being seen. Her chest barely rises and falls as your hearts beat a slow dance through the swamp.

Dandy doesn’t mold herself to the expectations of other people. She opens herself up and shows them that they are part of her experience, too. Whenever you breathe out a plume of fire, Dandy is already heaving out a silent sigh alongside you. Together, the two of you meditate, and beat in time, and exist.

You don’t need to look up to know that Dandy has a serene, satisfied smile on her face, and you don’t need to ask her to know that the two of you are somehow aligning chakras. It’s part of knowing her for so long, and it’s a part of emptying out your mind, too, letting knowledge like that surface from inside you.

Adila’s not here right now. The first Adila. The empty space inside you is hard to resist prodding, like the space where a baby tooth’s fallen out. If Dandy wasn’t here, and it was just you drifting through the swamp alone, you might get lost in that prodding, but the faint rise and fall of Dandy’s chest keeps your mind clear and receptive to thoughts that bob up out of you. Like labyrinths.

The swamp is guiding you not out towards an exit, but towards the center. You go along with it, taking the path of least resistance, and go along the labyrinth inside the labyrinth. No branching paths, no choices to make, just one path leading you in towards the center. Towards the standing stones.

It’s the drums that make you lift your heads in unison, ever so slightly. The gremlins swarming around the standing stones have stone spears and grass loincloths, and have raised a very abstract idol, all dizzying spirals. They dance and chant around it, and one of them is doing a perfect soprano, its head thrown all the way back, its teeth all pointing up at the sky.

This is because they are preparing a human sacrifice. Probably not really intending to carry it out? Like, at most they’ll dunk their captives in the water over and over again or poke them with stone knives until they’re bruised all over, but still, what a terrible fate!

The bright red hair of the Jedadi warrior chained to a boulder, wearing an impractical chain mail two-piece and veil set, is vaguely familiar. But more familiar is the struggling, panicking form of Mimsley Trotter, hapless Watchwoman, next to her. Though the Mimsley you knew and loved didn’t have mouse ears and little whiskers on her bulging cheeks.

You’re completely unseen, nothing more than a moss-covered log. You’re invisible. You’re a shadow. You have the element of surprise.

***

[b]Mittens![/b]

Adila I cradles the back of your head and smooshes her mouth against yours to the sound of Azora’s giddy laughter and applause.

“And Ansila and Marina lived happily ever after,” Eupheria says, her voice aglow with the joy of performing. The little pony between you and Adila whinnies and keeps chewing the carpet serenely. The Queen, meanwhile, is draped like a snake over the dining car’s elegant glass-and-crystal chandelier, her many hands wriggling like centipedes as she directs the two of you with a plethora of fingers.

Being a puppet is weird. It would probably be even weirder if you were actually made of wood and glitter and glass, but thankfully Eupheria didn’t think of that. Yet. Please don’t give her any ideas, Azora. It’s more like your whole body relaxed and stopped paying attention to what you wanted to do, and now every muscle impulse and twitch is alien, an impulse from Eupheria’s fingers. A multitude of nearly-invisible magic strings extend from every part of your body, passing through each other instead of tangling up, jerking and twitching as you move, each one wrapped around a different finger.

What’s not weird is that you’ve had an insight into Eupheria. You were right on the money. She’s not just a natural performer, she’s a multidisciplinary artist, as delighted to perform an intricate and intimately directed puppet show as she is to make her nightmare army and labyrinth of torment. As Azora makes an offering of delighted laughter, Eupheria lets out the most genuine and innocent laughter you’ve heard from her all day.

Then she spins you into an elegant ballet performance for an encore, a daring avant-grade variant on the end of Act I from [i]The Swan Princess and Ourania[/i]. Adila I is the Swan Princess, taking you up on the high jumps, seducing you with the stretch of her legs and fluttering of her plumage, while you are Ourania, coy and elegant and... unexpectedly cruel, if we’re being honest, sending the Swan Princess sprawling with an expertly choreographed backhand.

It barely connected— again, expertly choreographed— but when Adila I looks up at you, extending one hand in vain supplication, her eyes are [i]burning.[/i] The kind of look you give someone before you say “toss her in the web viper pit and nail down the trap door.” Or “dangle her out the window all night, upside down, and then invite our subjects to come and laugh at her.” The kind of look that would turn a lesser princess to quivering jelly.

I mean, she’s probably mad at you for bringing up puppet shows in the first place? Maybe she blames you for this whole thing? Maybe you have made an enemy for life? Meep.

“Oh, but silly me,” Eupheria adds, “the tea’s getting cold! Everyone, come and sit down!” And with a last flourish, Adila I is made to smoothly pull out your seat and bow, to which you reply with a perfect curtsey, before all the strings shoot back into Eupheria, who’s down to a much more manageable eight arms now.

“Now, go ahead, tell me your favorite parts so far,” she says, beaming at you. It looks like you’re expected to go first!

***

[b]Kathelia![/b]

When you look up, Kyouko’s looking down at you with a peachy flush to her cheeks and little hearts in her eyes. She wiggles on top of you, and she lowers her head, huffing softly as her lips part and—

ZAP!

You both are hit full force by a wind blast, Eska having knocked it out of alignment with one shiny limb, and you are sent tumbling into a heap together. She grins at you, her lips forced open into the rictus, and then does an acrobatic backflip into another set of crystals, which she also knocks out of alignment, pointing them straight at you.

Kyouko’s curse kicks in hard and she throws her arms around your head and screams for you to saaaaaaaaaaaave her, Kassie! She’s the cheerleader in distress who needs you to woman up and save the day and your face is being smushed into heavenly softness.

The part of you that is still a tactical genius and analytic mastermind slams into the part of you that is helpless and gay and being smothered to wonderful death in the perfect mental meet cute. Gosh, she smells wonderful, like an autumn morning when the sun’s out and you have a cup of cinnamon apple tea in your hands as you walk with her and— oh, right, a) Eska intends for this place to be your last room and b) you need to breathe.