There were a wide variety of problems, like a maze of fallen statues and copycats and molds. Every brick could be found twice, and every face was seen more than once. If you are unlucky enough, you might’ve even seen your own face in a bandit or a necromancer. Nothing was original, nothing was new. Here creation echoed in a chamber, a maze of mirrors that warped and bent reality to face you with new horrors and new itching contempt. you were lucky to breathe, even if it felt wrong, stolen.
If you were very quiet and very still, maybe you could hear the Walls breathe... Or the mutterings of a Madman trying to keep them alive desperately, along with everything trapped inside it.
Maybe he was scared- like a child grieving a not quite dead dog with a broken leg, even though they knew it was better to put down a suffering beast. But the walls breathed on, every shifting hallway, a new gauntlet to go through. How did time move here? Were your days, hours or weeks? Did it matter? Did the suffering endured change depending on the length of time in which it was experienced?
Theodor himself would only watch. maybe more would come. Perhaps more would change fate. Maybe just one more soul... One more mind... and if not that one then the next. For what else was there to do? Simply accept the inevitable? Oh no, no no no. Mourning Mortality was a mortifyingly mortal sin. There was no end goal but the same straight path as always, stretching far forward unto the horizon because what else was there...? Who would mourn a forgotten god? Certainly not Theodor. Not if there was no one left to mourn.
The definition of insanity: to do something over and over again with the feeble hope it will achieve different results.
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