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Bent over forwards, Arthur braces himself with his hands on his knees, panting for air.
He throws a frantic look over his shoulder, then leans against one of the walls.
He should keep running. He needs to get away from whatever creature had been chasing him just a few minutes ago.
But his legs burn with exhaustion, his sides ache, and every breath feels like it’s ripping his torso open with searing pain.
His panicked gaze wanders along the corridor he’s standing in.
Is it even a corridor? It seems to have branches, hidden passages, and tall archways leading off in every imaginable direction.
Side corridors, stairways that suggest the horrible idea that this labyrinth stretches across several floors.
And at the same time, not everything that looks like a passage is actually a way through.
Arthur learned that the hard way when he had ran into a mirror he’d mistaken for a turn.
His shoulder still hurts from the heavy impact.
Arthur tries to control his erratic breathing.
He tries to listen for any sign of the monster still following him - or, just as likely, some new terrifying creature lurking behind one of the branches ahead.
But all he can hear is the eerie sound of silence. His own pounding heart, blood rushing through his ears.
And a draft of air swooshing through the corridor, tugging at his ankles, trying to pull him deeper into the maze.
Arthur tries to calm himself down. Steadies himself against the wall, tries to come up with something to do now.
But all he can think of is the distant voice of his mother — the last echo of her screams he heard before he was driven deep into the labyrinth.
Then the gruesome growl of the monster.
The scratching of its claws on the hard stone floor as it crept past him while he hid in a side corridor.
And the cold voice of Winthrop, which still seems to follow him, boring into his mind with his strange philosophical ramblings Arthur doesn’t understand, which still send a cold shiver down his spine.
He can feel himself starting to panic.
He’s trying to use all the tricks he practiced with Mom: taking deep breaths, trying to relax the tense muscles in his body, digging his fingernails into his palms to ground himself.
But how is he supposed to convince himself that he is safe, that this is all in his mind, when this time, it clearly isn’t?
When the looming dread of what it might mean to be trapped here is pressing down on him, trying to crush his every thought beneath an avalanche of fear?
Arthur lets himself slide down the wall he’s been leaning against, burying his face in his hands, trying to block everything out. Not wanting to think about what is happening, but unable not to.
He’s going to die in here. Swallowed up by some madman’s labyrinth. He will never see his mother again.
A deep, raw pain sits in his chest, threatening to tear him apart from the inside.
He wants to scream for his mom, wants to believe that she’ll come and pick him up, take his hand, and lead him out of this hellhole.
But he knows she can’t come to him.
He’s on his own.