She’s gone.
The girl in the grey jacket has vanished into thin air.
You’re quite positive you saw her standing in the corner of the room just a few moments ago, but now? She’s no longer there. Worse, there is nobody around to verify what you know you saw.
So, of course, you start searching for her.
To call your home a labyrinth would be to put it mildly. You have never found the same room twice, no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you backtracked and tried to trace your path. You have not met any other people.
You call this place your home because it is the only place you have ever been. You call this place your home because there is nobody around to challenge your claim.
At first you wandered this place without reason, without purpose. But now? Now you have a goal.
You rush through the befuddling jumble of rooms, ever forward, ever forward. No sign of the girl in this room. No sign in that one. Your pace slows as endless doors are opened, endless rooms scanned. Your eyes hurt from staring into corners. Your brain aches from debating with yourself over if you saw her or not. Your legs are numb from walking. Everything passes into a blur of haze and sameness.
Finally, you collapse against the far wall of what must be the thousandth room you’ve visited. Ash coats the wall and the floor. You trace your finger lazily through the thick coating, doodling whatever comes to mind: spirals, eyes, numbers, letters.
You don’t need to look up. You know she’s there.
“Who are you?” you ask.
She smiles in response. The top half of her face is concealed by a mask.
The two of you regard each other. She squats down and examines the doodles that you have crafted. She wipes them away with a sweep of her hand, then writes a string of letters and numbers that burn a hole through your mind.
She looks at you, then proffers a hand. “Do you want to leave?”
You nod and take her hand.