Dear Pilgrim, returning to these digital shores you might have been alarmed by my silence. The diminished volume of digital correspondence found on these here ephemeral cyber pages. Have no concern, do not worry yourself, I am fine, the dispatches will continue.

 Yet, I feel compelled to give you an explanation for my uncharacteristic timidity.

For the last few months, I have been wandering the Labyrinth, lost in its sinister chambers.

Donning the mask of Deceneus for protection I wandered lost in its mists that rob one of memory and self. The Ebon Maze is deceptive. One moment you find yourself in the most opulent and magnificent Roman Garden surrounded by statues of beautiful nymphs and seductive satyrs, the next you lose yourself down a path where the walls are mere ruins, the steps covered in ancient moss, and the statues faceless monstrosities weathered by supernatural winds.

It was in these parts that I wandered. The Labyrinth clouded my mortal eyes and began to rob me of my memories. I felt it lapping at my essence, imbibing the inner nexus of self I carried with me. Then, suddenly, I found myself amid a forest glade, and in the center stood the Three Women.

“How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags?” I shouted, echoing the Scottish murderer. I spat the thunder of Zalmoxis, reminding them that I was no mere fool. Showing them that I would resist their haggish ways. I was no apprentice, easily enchanted by Ariel’s tricks.

Nevertheless, I was disarmed.


The beautiful one laughed, the ugly one sneered, and the blind one told me where to find the key.

It was in my pocket. I had it with me the whole time.

I left the sisters and continued my walk on the spiraling paths, ever looking for the door to the City, but now with the Golden Key in hand.


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