“Do you hear that?” Reginald queried, halting in front of a door that hummed a tune eerily similar to the ice cream truck’s jingle.
“I hear it, mate,” replied Barnaby, the janitor, “but it’s not the truck you should worry about. It’s the invisible dog and its even more invisible leash.” With that, Barnaby lunged dramatically, mimicking an epic battle with a phantom canine.
Reginald stifled a laugh, “I shall face this dog as I would a dragon!” And he drew his—merely decorative—rapier, brandishing it with great flourish.
Their skirmish was interrupted when a door swung open, revealing a grand hall where the chandeliers hung precariously, like overripe peaches waiting for a gentle poke. Inside, a banquet was set—only, it appeared to be a feast of illusions. The turkey was a cleverly arranged pile of grapes, and the mashed potatoes? Mere clouds of whipped cream.
“Welcome to the feast of the labyrinth!” cried a voice from somewhere above. A figure draped in what seemed to be a curtain rather than a robe, loomed mysteriously.
“Are you the master of this castle?” Reginald asked, his voice echoing theatrically.
“I prefer ‘connoisseur of chaos’,” the figure replied, and with a wave, sent the curtains billowing to reveal a hidden wine cellar, or perhaps just a large bucket of grape soda.
As Barnaby poured soda into goblets, the two friends laughed at how fate had turned a routine castle visit into a night of revelry and whimsical danger.