Step softly, seeker of the ethereal maze. The stone whispers secrets to only those who guess. Enter if heart is pure, otherwise, sift through ashes, tracing lines in the starlight.
"When is a door not a door?" she asked, one foot draped in shadows.
Once knew the answer, danced the spiral staircase climbing down, down into possibility itself.
In this realm, labyrinths are but reflections of one's self, cracked mirrors speaking unheard truths. Each pathway blooms silence, demanding sacrifice unseen until dawn breaks the slumber of stars.
Fingers trace the route while eyes seek solace in fleeting patterns. Always the question remains, forever unanswered, echoed by voices past and future.
A riddle for the ages: "The more you take, the more you leave behind. What are they?"
Return to the nexus where dilemmas dance; every choice a lit candle in the cathedral of regret yet joy.