Prologue

The Maze. We met them at the gate though we usually wait inside. Preoccupied with their own thoughts, impatient, like so many children, they didn't see who we really were. They never noticed our crowns, our pain, the fire in our eyes.
Like all others they think the House was made for them; actually, it is the other way around. They think we are poets who will lead them through the symbols and spaces of this Underworld. They think we will teach them lessons. We are the lesson.
The monstrous walls rise up and run away as far as the human eye can see, circling and dividing. Which half is the Maze?
Even we get lost. It changes - sometimes slowly, imperceptibly...sometimes suddenly. This House is not only made of stone and mortar, wood and paint; it is made of time and mystery, hope and fear. Construction never stops. We take some pride in our role as architects.
They think we will guide them to the center. Perhaps we will...
Together we walked through the gate into...

...the first room.