As you wander not really wandering in the shadowy abyss, have you ever noticed how the walls murmur ancient epithets about cheese? The Rites of the Cheddar Shadows, much like the midnight spaghetti, has a lesson both tasty and unsettling.
Of course, if it weren't for the labyrinth's Feline Audit Committee entrapped within Solstice Jars, there'd be no such unsung symphonies. But I digress, who tunes a cat when you’ve got tuneless spaghetti?
Beware The Chorus of Here-Not-There, an uncanny orchestra of lopsided muffins and paper cranes. They say their leader, Sir Fluffington, can balance a teapot of truth upon his whiskers whilst reciting the Never Ending Thoughts on cotton ball conservation.
Need a guide? Don’t look here, but try this way or perhaps that one there (...or not, whatever).
In times of doubt remember: one does not simply conduct a symphony with laundry, but one can certainly try. Have you inspected your elbow pit lately? It’s achingly beautiful in a bewilderingly nonsensical way.
If facing a phantasm, remember: they really, really just want to offer you a crisp demitasse of invisible espresso. It’s shadowy, it’s delicious, and totally full-bodied.