The Stories tell of an age long past, when a greedy king offended his patron god and in turn incurred a curse on his wife.  For withholding the promised sacrifice of an ivory bull, the god punished the king by making his queen fall deeply in love with the animal.  In time she gave birth to a grotesque son, a child born from man and beast against the laws of nature, and he was called the Minotaur.  The Minotaur grew more ferocious with each passing day, until the only drink that could quench his thirst was the blood of youths, until the only food that could satisfy him was their supple flesh—overcome with fear, the king desperately sought guidance from a priestess devoted to the god.  At her behest, a gigantic labyrinth was constructed to imprison the demonic prince, formed of countless twists and turns so he would never be able to venture beyond its walls.

But the king still had more to pay.

A seasonal tribute was to be sent to the Minotaur, two young men and two fair maidens doomed to join his ceaseless wandering and appease the beast’s wicked appetite.  The god was bitter even now, the priestess had warned, so though the monster was trapped within the winding maze of corridors, there would come a day when the stones crumbled and the fiend unleashed.  For each year the demanded offerings were fulfilled, however, the kingdom would see yet another year of peace.  The king didn’t contest it.  A few lives in exchange for the safety of many, he thought, it could’ve been worse.  And thus a date was established, as was a means of cataloguing the adolescents in the realm so that the pairs could be drawn time and again.  He was a fair man, invoking luck and fate in his selection, and so order was maintained for the most part in his domain, disrupted only by singular occasions for grief.

Or so the Stories say.

Fact is, the truth’s stranger than fiction.

It wasn’t wise to love too deeply, Shin Mihwa’s learned.  It was a mistake she’d made early on, a lesson permanently engrained.  Forget the silly romantic bedtime stories mothers murmured into the hair of their children, forget how they whispered about it being better to have loved and lost then to never have loved at all—the best thing was to love a little bit, so when your love was lost, maybe just maybe you’d have some piece of your heart left over for the next one.

And it mostly definitely was an issue of when, not if—Fate had a sick sense of humor.

Pressing the veil that masked most her face against her nose, Mihwa exhaled slowly through , struggling for breath.  It wasn’t because she all but suffocated herself with the sheer fabric adorning her head, but because of the rancid smell that seemed to claw at her from all directions, sticking to the white ceremonial robe she’d been forced into as if marking her for death.  It was tradition, that the young women were sent in simple dresses of snow while men wore ivory trousers.  They were to be pristine, pure, to purge the wickedness that threatened their homeland until the next cycle.

Looking up at the looming gate before her, Mihwa couldn’t help the mirthless chuckle that spilled from her lips, the plaque declaring her location in thick scripted hanja seemingly mocking her.

Nam, for the southern entrance.

A sick sense of humor indeed, Mihwa thought as she crossed the threshold.

Their world was a grey one.  Between the unyielding force of stone and the harsh gleam of steel, there was little room for warmth and color.  Nature was obsolete, trees fallen to make way for cities and rivers polluted because of them—only efficiency remained, only production mattered, towering skyscrapers and the streets leading to them.  A perpetual blanket of smoggy clouds shielded them from the heavens, casting the lands in a hazy dim by day, darkening them further by night.  They’ve adapted, sure, bright fluorescents which were once reserved for hospitals in the Old Days now asively guiding citizens about their daily lives, but these lights only contributed to the stifling clinical callousness.

Mihwa doubted warmth and color could’ve lessened the ominous air of what laid in her future anyways, eyes settling easily on her destination.

The Labyrinth was impressive in its monstrosity, its sheer size intimidating even to the districts furthest from it.  Standing tall in the center of the capital, its girth could hardly be missed, especially since its diameter alone dominated over half the city.  Even when darkness fell, it possessed an ethereal glow, like a beacon for ships lost in fog, reminding inhabitants of its perpetual presence.  An enormous walled structure, the Labyrinth more closely resembled the cooling towers of power stations, though it dwarfed anything with which it could be compared.  One could only assume its name was derived from what lurked within, that its barricades were what separated the populace from the twists and turns of lore.

None who’ve entered have ever been seen or heard of again, so any guess was as good as the truth.

“I’ll be sure to tell you,” her boyfriend had once insisted, pressing soft kisses against her temple when she clung to him and cried at the news, “I’ll tell you everything.”

“You promise to come back?” Mihwa had choked out.  An unreasonable request, she knew in the back of her mind, but at that moment all she wanted was some modicum of reassurance.  She dug her fingers into his shirt as if to anchor him to her, sniffled and hiccupped and sobbed inconsolably.  It was a terribly unattractive sight, and had Mihwa been in a more rational state of mind, she might’ve been disgusted that she was leaving him with such an ill impression to remember her by.  But that had been the least of her worries—what could outweigh the thought of a virtual death sentence, the thought of her love being irrevocably taken from her?

He’d hummed her a song in lieu of answering, cradling her head against his chest as they huddled in the shadows of a back alley, away from prying eyes and ears.

Woohyun had never been one to make empty promises.

It didn’t take long for Mihwa to reach the Labyrinth, the path from the southern gate to the corresponding entryway doubtlessly less windy than what was to come.  The capital felt more like a ghost town as she’d shuffled past empty storefronts and abandoned stalls, her sights set only on her objective as her arms wrapped around herself in a poor attempt to ward off the chill—goosebumps peppered her arms, but Mihwa wasn’t entirely sure whether they were a result from the wind whistling through the soulless avenues, or the boding evil that hung thick over her shoulders.

They call it a game, and Mihwa supposed that was true enough, if games were meant to have no winners no matter how well they played.  The goal was to reach the center of the Labyrinth, to reach the innermost chamber.  What then?  Congratulations, you didn’t perish wandering the snaky halls, only to come face to face with the unknown.  If there truly was a prize, there was still a slim chance for escape, a chance none have thus far claimed.  More likely there was nothing but a mockery of hope, a sealed room in which you could wait in peace for starvation to work its course.  Or if there was a monster like the Stories say?  Well, then there was certainly no more to be said.

Unlike the mythic heroes, she had neither the favor of the pantheon nor the guidance of the divine.  There was no god to advise her, no goddess to bewitch someone to come to her aid—all Mihwa had was herself.

Passing into the Labyrinth was like passing into a different world.

She’d thought it a joke at first, some depraved prank as she sidled up to the mechanic door and it slid open with a hiss.  The door had opened to nowhere—Mihwa had come face to face with a wall.  It was a couple feet in front of her, enough space for Mihwa to step into the Labyrinth and stand comfortably between it and the closing door, before telltale clicks told her she’d been sealed in, locks spinning in place and shadows engulfing her.

The streets had been dead silent, but the Labyrinth’s interior whirred with the life of machinery.  Though Mihwa couldn’t see them, she certainly heard them, a dull continuous rumble that seemed to come from all around her.

She didn’t think it was possible, but the stinking odor seemed to multiply tenfold without circulating air.

Her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness.  As Mihwa patted absentmindedly at the wall before her, she wondered why the Labyrinth was pitch black within, when it shone like a lighthouse outside.  The wall stretched both sides beyond the reach of her arms, offered Mihwa no means to walk straight through yet creating diverging paths to her left and right, paths into the gnarly abyss.

Which direction might Woohyun have chosen?

Mihwa considered her alternatives.

…they were both right-handed.

Call her naïve, but it’s not like she had any better ideas.  Mihwa sighed heavily before facing the right and proceeding cautiously into the depths of the Labyrinth.

Time passed oddly.  It might’ve been hours since her arrival, might’ve been the next day even.  Mihwa had no way of telling how long she spent walking aimlessly, no way of judging the distance she’d travelled save for her blistering feet and protesting stomach.  She could only assume that the walls curved more or less at some point, to fit themselves with the rounded tower’s circumference, but Mihwa couldn’t say she felt particular shifts as she staggered along.

For all she knew, she’d been meandering in circles, looping over the same corridors over and over as she turned this way and that.

Every time she hit another split, she used inane reasoning to pick her next route.

Woohyun’s favorite color was red—right fork.

Her birthday’s in July—left fork.

Dead end.  Woohyun was claustrophobic.  Backtrack.  Better go right this time.

She might’ve left the water running back home—left fork.

The left strap of her sandal snapped—left fork.

Kicking it off with a frustrated grunt, Mihwa ditched it wherever it landed.  After a moment’s hesitation, she slipped out of the other shoe as well, opting to continue barefooted.

“Turn right.”

Mihwa did so mindlessly, hand groping against the wall to guide her.

Wait.

She froze, stiffening as she drew to a halt.  It’d been a man’s voice.  Another tribute?  She glanced around warily.  “Who’s there?”

No response.  Minutes passed, or at least Mihwa thought they did.  Still nothing, except for the electronic hum in the background.  Letting out the breath she’d been holding, Mihwa took a defiant left the next time a choice presented itself.  And another.  And another.

If she wasn’t going about in circles before, she definitely was now.

Frowning at the dead end she’d entered, Mihwa was about to retrace her steps yet again when a bloodcurdling screech suddenly pierced the silence, loud and sharp and bouncing off the walls.  Mihwa hastily clamped her hands over her ears and ducked, whipping around in a futile attempt to locate the source.  Even as the shriek died down, she could still hear it ringing in her ears, echoing in the Labyrinth, and she shook her head furiously in an attempt to dispel the lingering sound.

No sooner had she managed to coax herself to straighten, did light suddenly filter in from above.  Mihwa shrank against the wall automatically, pressing herself as flat as she could upon its surface, but nothing more happened.  Squinting up, Mihwa couldn’t tell whether the weak rays streaming down were natural or artificial.  She was thankful regardless—flooded in grey her surroundings may now be, it beat the blindness that she’d had to deal with previously, and she set off randomly once more.

The next time a terrified yelp broke through the eerie quiet of the Labyrinth, Mihwa was still startled out of her wits, but was at least able to keep from crumpling to the ground.

Keep moving, Mihwa urged herself, inching guardedly down the passage she’d chosen.  It was better than being a sitting duck, or so she convinced herself.

When another set of lights abruptly came on, however, Mihwa stopped uneasily. Unlike the forks she’d thus far encountered, she suddenly found herself dealing with three options.

Left, right, or dead center.

She pursed her lips.  Why she hadn’t expected this baffled her—of course the Labyrinth would get even more complex the deeper one went.  She must’ve been stupidly doubling and redoubling over the outer rims of the Labyrinth until recently.

“Go straight.”

Mihwa nearly leapt out of her skin, spinning around but finding herself alone.

The instruction repeated itself in her mind, like a broken track that looped indefinitely.

That voice had been so familiar.  Her insides ached before Mihwa slapped her cheeks, rousing herself.

It couldn’t be, she chided mentally, don’t make things harder than they already were.

Brows furrowing as she tried to peer into the middle archway, it was ultimately in vain.  Even with the spontaneous lights’ help, Mihwa couldn’t see where that path led.

Woohyun liked strawberries—right fork.

His lucky number was 7—left fork.

Dead end.

Mihwa huffed, turning reluctantly, only to see a hooded figure blocking the exit.  She didn’t even get the chance to yell before the stranger was upon her, tossing something over her, muffling her surprised cry, and pinning her arms to her sides with his own as he dragged her from her spot.

Woohyun had blindfolded her, the day he left.  “So you wouldn’t have to see me go,” he’d claimed as he carefully adjusted the dark fabric over her eyes—if Mihwa could see, she would’ve noticed him smiling that crooked smile of his, something wringing between a grin and a grimace.

Mihwa had mustered a watery laugh, clasping her hand over his before he could pull away.

“Count to a hundred before you take it off,” whispered Woohyun.  “Better yet, a thousand.”  He’d leaned forward, gently knocking his forehead against hers.  “No cheating, understand?”

“What is this, a game of hide-and-seek?” snorted Mihwa, giggling despite herself.  They’d made an unstoppable pair as children, when they’d snuck out to play with the neighborhood kids.

How she wished they could return to simpler times.  Happier times.

A pause, before she felt him nod slowly, his nose rubbing lightly against hers with the movement.  His breath caressed her lips when he sighed, almost inaudibly, and Mihwa held on tighter when she felt him beginning to pry his fingers out from beneath hers.

“Only you must never come find me.”

So much for that—Mihwa wasn’t one for empty promises either, though as the sack was lifted from her head and she instinctively recoiled from the sudden flood of brightness, she had to wonder whether she should have listened to Woohyun’s last command after all.

Surely, this could not be real.

“Long time no see.”

This had to be a hallucination, a trick of the mind.  She was tired and hungry and scared—she wouldn’t deny it.  Yes, a trick of the mind.  Maybe even a trick of the Labyrinth, if she wanted to blame it for all the misfortune she’s suffered.

Woohyun beamed—Mihwa’s heart stuttered.

“You made it!”  The cheer sounded ridiculously misplaced in such a gloomy site.  “I knew you would.  Had to nab you kicking and screaming, but who’s keeping track?”

“It was you?” Mihwa asked instead, disbelief making her voice crack.

Woohyun merely gestured at the chamber they were in, arms lifted like a ringmaster greeting his audience before his show-stopping act.  “What do you think?”

Despite the burning confusion buzzing in her mind, Mihwa took a closer look at what Woohyun was referring to.  There was no doubt they were in the center of the Labyrinth, marked by what appeared to be a colossal column holding up its ceiling.

Mihwa gaped at the structure with nothing short of unadulterated horror.  Rows upon rows of open caskets spiraled around the tower, standing with their backs against the wall and stacked atop one another.  Up close Mihwa couldn’t even spot the top of the building, only coffins as far as the eye could see.

…many of which contained corpses, in various states of decay.  Skin slipped from tissue and flesh melted from bone, faces reducing to sunken sockets and skeletal leers.

She covered instinctively, not that it served any particular purpose.  Mihwa had long since grown accustomed to the putrid stench that permeated the city, the only difference between then and now was knowledge of its source.  It was the appalling sight before her that threatened to empty her stomach of its meager contents, even more so when Mihwa realized that each carcass was hooked to a mess of wires that fed into the generator they leaned upon.

“Amazing what the human body can do, isn’t it?  No other oil burns as bright.”

Mihwa lost it then.

Turning away hastily, she fell to her knees and retched at the ground.  The bile scorched and left a disgusting aftertaste in , brought a coppery tang to her lips like she was throwing up the whole of her insides rather than her last meal, however long ago that was.  Mihwa was dimly aware of Woohyun carefully holding her hair back as she vomited—she would’ve laughed if she could, at the surreal display of tenderness, but this was really no laughing matter.  Her eyes watered instead as she heaved, having nothing more to expel, yet she continued to choke and gag, gut churning and head swimming because how could something like this possibly be?

She numbly got back to her feet, guided by Woohyun and clutching on his arms for support.  “All this time, the tributes…and you, you’re…”

She couldn’t even finish the thought—she didn’t really need to.

“I can save you,” Woohyun murmured, lips barely brushing the shell of her ear, “It’d be you and me, against them all, and we’ll never lose.”  Mihwa shuddered against the hand cupping her face, standing rigidly as Woohyun’s thumb her cheek.  His fingers combed through her dark tresses, pausing to toy with the unruly ends.  “It’ll be like old times.”

It would never be like old times, Mihwa wanted to wail.

Woohyun withdrew to look at her.  “You doubt me.”

It wasn’t a question, but a sigh.  Dejected even, perhaps.

He almost seemed to hesitate before finally resting his forehead against hers—she could feel his lashes fluttering when he blinked, and she was struck with the sudden memory of her first kiss.

An absurd time for sentimentality, for sure.

“You do not exist.  You’re not…real,” Mihwa whispered, gaze locked rebelliously with his.  This couldn’t possibly be Woohyun.  This wasn’t Woohyun!  It’s an illusion conjured by the Labyrinth, had to be.  Woohyun could never—  “None of this is real.”

A curious smile tugged at Woohyun’s lips as he eyed her thoughtfully.  “Isn’t it?”

“You’re not real,” Mihwa repeated.  Her breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the wake of her words, their surroundings unnaturally still—no, her surroundings unnaturally still.  Surely she was alone, haunted only by the ghost of his memory, the Specter of this tower.  “This can’t be real.”

Woohyun merely cocked a brow at her—when he leant in, she didn’t pull away.