Enormous, rough-hewn stone walls expanded in every direction forever, their rugged surfaces a mix of eroded curves and harsh, hand-chiseled edges. The cragged, pock-marked plane snaked away around corners, wrapping in on itself with corridors that weaved and knotted and intersected at crossroads and loops and spirals. You could walk for five hundred days and never find a dead-end, never cross back on yourself, but you'd have made no progress at all. Above was a black, empty expanse, an endless sprawl of agoraphobia that weighed down on top of you and made the stone hallways all the more narrow; claustrophobia in equal measure.
[table][row][/row][row][cell]Poe, rake-thin, 3-foot-something, hair matted and greasy, curled into herself against the cold floor that was simultaneously the cold stone of the walls and a clinical vinyl linoleum tile, each version of itself straining against the other to assert their own reality; eventually, the linoleum gave way, and stone swallowed up what was left of where she'd come from entirely. She pressed the butts of her hands into her eye sockets, refusing to see what she could hear and feel and know in her very core. This was a world she was familiar with but wanted little to do with; a world she knew in glimpses and fragmented nightmares. A surreality that defied all logic regarding its incomprehensible, immutable being. It [i]was[/i] and [i]is[/i] and [i]would be[/i]. It [i]was[/i] frightening. It [i]is[/i] dangerous. It [i]would be[/i] navigable, would Poe simply come to understand it. Alas. Such a thing defied understanding just as much as it defied all man's ken. Poe, young and scared and of little experience of known reality, let alone this other, outside-place, could not dwell on extant metaphysics - she could only cower. 
[/cell][cell]Poe, rake-thin, 5-foot-4, hair brushed and straightened and falling far past her shoulders, lay in a hospital bed, mattress soft and firm. The clean plastic and metal of the bed's frame were a stark contrast against the ragged rock and stone of the surrounding labyrinth, the muted pastel green and cream almost blinding against dark grays and blacks. The tube in her arm suggested an IV drip had at some point been in place, but such a feature was absent now - just a loose cannula draping over the edge of the bed, the last few drops of saline from the open end the last indication of any medical attention she had been receiving. She was bleary and confused, and though a part of her couldn't help but recognize where she was, how she came to be here, and the implications upon her circumstances that both fragments of knowledge imparted, there was a fog against her mind that prevented a conscious acknowledgement. She was here, she had been somewhere else, she would arrive elsewhere entirely; all were important, none felt relevant. In the haze, she merely lifted her arm, observing her pale flesh sparkle in the black starlight from above.[/cell][/row][/table]Poe turned away from these particular versions of herself, caught in here, ensnared in the maze. Which version of her was more true she did not know; if either were constructions, either of her own making, or the labyrinth's making, or from some further alien source, she could not place their origins and she could not recollect herself in their places. They were mirages, conjured up to frighten or threaten or elucidate or distract; it didn't [i]matter[/i], she didn't [i]want[/i] them, and suddenly they were gone as the walls stretched and scraped with a great stone-on-stone grinding to finally slam closed and box both in entirely, before the corridors before her stretched away at such a pace she felt nauseous; and that was that. Out of sight, out of mind.

Distantly, distantly...shouting? Poe turned, her brows knitted together. Hallways spanned out before her but choosing was a lottery; the sound seemed to come from each in equal portion, bouncing off the rock to surround her with shouts becoming half-heard whispers. She knew, in her bones, that if she wanted to find them, she would, regardless of choice of direction, but she wasn't sure she did. Something else in her gut told her not to go looking. Which instinct to trust, which hunch to rely upon? Curiosity rallied and ignited the fire; with five passages splayed out in front of her she spread her fingers and slapped her hand hard against the rock before holding her arm out in front. Her ring finger hurt the most, so that was the way she picked. 

Twisting, turning, running hands along rough stone. Shouting grew steadily closer, and though she could hear the source moving it gained no ground on her. She circled it, drawing ever-inwards as it frantically span in a frenzied search. She could hear it properly now, make out the words, although wouldn't deign to guess whether that was because she was close enough or she was now simply allowed.
"Poe! Poe, where are you?! Poe!"
Searching for [i]her[/i]. A sliver of ice ran through Poe's chest and she nearly tripped, distracted by shock, but her hands caught herself on stone rushing to meet them and she steadied. In response, the walls shifted, and what would have been a circuitous, rounding path suddenly opened at its core and there it was, the source; a well-groomed, stern-looking older gentleman in a clean-pressed and expensive suit, flanked by a man and a woman, looking slightly less collected, in white coats and wielding syringes. Poe's eyes flared in panic as she noticed the needles; the gentleman's eyes flared in poised anger as he noticed Poe.

"Poe! Poe, come with us now."
Poe stepped backwards, scared, threatened. Quietly, the straight path shimmered and what had been, momentarily ago, an endlessly spooling corridor behind the trio, was suddenly thick with stone. Of the white-coat pair, the man noticed first. He sprung back - Poe recognized swelling panic flush across his face, a mirror of her own expression. The gentleman only glanced subtly to either side, seeming to assess his immediate surroundings.
"Poe, come on now." A calmer tone, but with the words came another advance, and his advance prompted Poe's retreat; she didn't know who these people were, didn't desire to, and her attention was fixed on the metal of the needles that still glimmered in the non-light. "We need to be getting on."

The woman ran out of patience and darted forwards, prompting the gentleman to yell out, but not before Poe was away and sprinting backwards; they were chasing, faster than she could escape - and then came that grinding of stone against stone again, and more shouts, 
"Poe! Don't leave us here! [b]Poe! Don't! [i]DO-[/i][/b]"
and then the stone slammed shut and there were no more shouts and Poe was alone again.