The Stall in the Endless Maze

As the sun dipped beyond the horizon, casting long shadows across the cobblestones of my inner labyrinth, I realized that I had stumbled upon a place I did not remember constructing. The air was scented with spiced incense and something akin to cinnamon, though the source was nowhere in sight.

I stood in a stall, an imperceptible border marking my boundary. Above me, tiny lanterns flickered, each light a fragment of memory I couldn't grasp. Here, my mind whispered secrets in a language I was yet to learn. The stall was both sanctuary and prison, a quiet pause in the vast corridors of my dreaming self.

"What is it that you seek?" I asked aloud, though no one was there to answer. The question echoed, rebounding against the unseen walls until it lost its meaning. Perhaps seeking was the journey, not the destination, and this stall was merely a chance to reflect on the paths I have traveled.

As I pondered, I noticed an intricate carving on the wooden panel beside me, depicting a tree whose roots intertwined with the horizon. I reached out to touch it, feeling a pulse beneath the surface—almost like a heartbeat.

Suddenly, the ground beneath shifted, reminding me of the gentle tremors of an awakened dream. To stay or to follow the call of the maze? The stall awaited my decision.