Contrive all reconciliation to falter one amidst another’s impossibilities — by which derangement shall this elapse? Two strangers stand opposite upon a frame laid due of notion, commencing to grant a mutual overture by either force when what true substance of matter dwells within self-sacrifices necessitated; accumulated, with irony, to answer reconciliations prior — suppose that one of these figures assumes a query and a request for the other to follow astride upon any given object, from thence calls a sympathizer, per course of charm, where conceits are never truncated, reminding these each may bolster unto tyranny: ought the latter attempt to humour a dichotomy with such an object nebulous?  Here may you find our paradox!  Tangles of variables and more and more to administer a decision by passage: come herald for previous experiences with assault; faith once embedded, now stolen, trodden towards a mire; then a greater cruelty than these in the rejection of all rights; and for us, should you speak again, a secret hypocritical brace of irony lies herein, so shall gathered heaps of tangles traipse forward once more and take another by the hand coaxing boundless unto chambers deep below.  Should she remark upon a collection of remembrance, she would seek to add more to the pyre — how is it, then, that a decision is made?  A voluptuary of belief would bloody the heads of those they deem to sacrifice along the continuous ransacking of their own character embellished in the havoc, and yet—!  This acknowledgement remains a precious constant!  What a lovely procession we may outline — we have understood it thus from the moment of first interaction: the resplendence of crafting and keeping a whole, how terribly life-giving it results without concern for rank marred of agony whither a belligerent would molest that it epitomizes both to turn dreadful.  Paradoxes piled on top of paradoxes from full cogitation before, sundered here, thrown thence to the waysides, so ruminative as to each constitute a mass of recklessness — thus is the cycle revolved for blisters and sutured in anew.  How fiercely they find us, oh, how desperately they grasp!  Thus the cacophony beckons — but to renounce hereafter would this conflict be lost of all anchors, reference, malleability per flesh soever stroked and licked by casts of wrought delicate fingers, an additional factor contends thus alongside: the individual compelled in her entirety to extremes that lust might steal contempt and they would ravish one another — should these bulwarks kept so dear to us proffer such indulgence and be relinquished altogether, what of the beauty to be sourced from those dream-deep planes?  From there comes heart and ordnance and where surging ecstasy dilutes to relations made crude, yet valuable of a cornerstone, purposed for idolization more to hold nearer and nearer beside a laughing gouged womb — there is naught but to shield close these ideals from that of assailants. No, no: Be rid of reconciliation, moreover, for our times crown the clash of flesh-flaying and gunfire.  Forsake yourself now upon losses through unto any lack of meaning you must hold lest you collapse again as a newfound wailer whom all would abuse at a truant soldier’s instant; forget every fear in lieu of much the restless, forget hope!  Here is a new world unbeknownst to you, my good madam!  How many of these universes have we come across in our young lives?  To what ends will we fight one another and save one another?  A statistic of strangers lies before each one of us — a decrepit lot we shall be to drown oneself, to harm skin and flesh; or embrace hands withal; abound so strangely where might another grandeur sew it thus; here is brought the waxing of our apparatus.  How wonderful everything is!  The warmth aches now, anxious to peer across the fields and imagine a wisp might run endlessly across its sunburned breadth twirling through those other wild marching spectres; all of them, all of them caught in a glimpse upon their own trails, meeting at innumerable points along the theatre.  Samantha was she called.  There had she woken: Samantha Halley, a young woman of twenty, standing now across another young woman who had met with her minutes ago.

Samantha had found herself in a large room lit only by a fireplace and moonlight, where only a few choice furnishings were visible from the rest of the dark.  She had never seen this room before nor that of the surroundings by the windows, though what puzzlement there lay was since displaced by the arrival of the other woman, who had not provided her name; she had worryingly failed to provide much at all, underlining instead each of her attempts to deliver some curt and detached reassurance to Samantha for information she was then relaying.  She seemed an assistant of sorts for the building they were in — naught else about her status could be gleaned, but what was immediately peculiar about her was not simply her disposition, but her black attire in tandem: she was draped by an intricately trimmed veil circling her head along the temples, and similar material fashioned the rest of her long, impressive dress, covering up to her wrist.  Her hands were gloved, while her neck was also covered in cloth — the figure had been struck off-putting, yet even in stance before Samantha nonetheless assuaged her own confusion soever by proxy of familiarity, however vague or fleeting, for what had been taking place reasoned further and further into an immense hysteria, that she could not recall the very wrack of her scrutiny issued whence, neither still any word taken astride this notice, not for a trice, and by an inward lurch was grasped unto no desire to listen further, would refuse the slightest movement for the uncontrollable shudders that had seized her limbs; chanced to caution against the woman herself withheld from the hearth facing back unmoved behind that dark veil as her speech had hooked and torn and plucked upon the throbs of her head and the rapid swells of her breath: The woman had been speaking all this time in another language, yet Samantha was also able to hear her words in English.  “Why are you looking at me in that shitty way—?  How is it she’s talking like this, are these from her own voice?  What’s going on?  This is terrible— So fucking awful—  Is she—?  Is she here to hurt me— I can’t— Who is she now, who is she?” Samantha thought.  The woman’s voice overlaid itself in two separate dialogues; of these she understood had echoed far across in her ears to some inexplicable range, yet by the same breath sounded to be extremely near; all intonation rang out with clicks; what words the woman had to express coursed a sharp lancing sensation along her neck, undulated downwards, so caused her to tense as they sunk into a mess of shivers; there pained a heavy coil within her lungs against the writhings of her back as every lilt crooned through in trails.  Samantha’s mouth strained upon broken sentences and she was not able to contour a proper response, for she found it difficult to even whisper.  The voices had droned without reprieve, had beseeched her frightfully, repeated in drunkenness, was erst bestowed for each dissolute strike exhausting her flesh, then of a melody to beckon her reply back in chimes that were subtle, plucks now quiet, and again, again, again per transition and to no true measure recklessly swept all notion of focus from her regard, that she was subject once more to its sounds and collisions and taunts as the cold shrieks rang out heavier upon her chest, twicefold her limbs; her own speech enshrouded and she was null of thought — the whispers twined horribly to embed themselves inside all her fragile skin — she had turned rigid throughout beset by an impulse to cry, “What’s she really saying, what could she want?”  Samantha had already taken steps away, with arms crossed.  “She hasn’t even promised me anything— Just nonsense, nonsense, nonsense that everything’s alright!  Why’s this happened— Where are my wounds— Do I have any—? I’m kidnapped, I’ve been kidnapped—!” each punctuated flair of the woman’s speech she had dreaded to endure, “Tell me— What the fuck are you doing there just standing—?  You’re speaking like you’ve gotten me saved,” and she exerted to pace the area she had been confined within, anxious to look away from her, “—come off it, you slut — no, you’ve got to wait, you must — she’ll hurt me, they all will, again and again, whoever they are,” but was unable to do so, and she glanced about to reinforce for her own sake a single thought, that she cradled and caressed herself; what focus unto grasp had brandished high over by the blares of her reason, in a flicker thus stumbled, “I need to talk— I have to talk and ask her.  Shout something out, go on, go on—!” there perceived an incongruence, for her crashing steps could not drown out the entirety, “—this awful fucking situation—!  You, where the hell am I—?” and the woman spoke on, and the harmonies continued—  

“Samantha, Samantha,” they called with faint tempestuous breath, “you’re standing there beautiful, Samantha.  You have yet to act a bright, glowing screen — put down for us what you know, darling, trace again your passions; we would much like to see….”  For should it have thus been a tempest, it would require from her a courteous glance, and in these cases, one ought not to bow a moment!  Having met with nothing to her own arms after waking in a stranger’s room, Samantha would refrain now from that sanctified curtsy, splayed out as she was — but even then, with realization contrariwise, a million divergences had been constructed to the minutiae: it was a display of dregs, and every distinguished facet to be manic, and all glory had now prospered forth towards the displacement of writ, plundering conviction, by measure lost of form; where thoughts would be taken as phantoms with neither reason nor impulse to retrieve hence any sole make.  There had been cut a flaring of noise, and she felt bitter relief while dissonance beckoned her to tear away as a newfound supplicant marked and merry in adherence to those manifestations, naught to mind of her reluctance as she tempered them each: of all that is fleeting, spurned during conflict, nonetheless ratifying, invigorated by the wielding of those cries unto a bewildered aimless quest — or perhaps this was never at all a quest and she was left to wander — no, it is fear, fear: Fearful questions to ameliorate a matter withal and its ambiguity, now distinct at this very nanosecond, and a question here added that the woman might possibly assist in her concerns, from whence its unknowns are laid — “But never!” she told herself again; therein might reside the faith: that the woman would not help in however the fearful slightest, for what else could that woman be if not harm — that harm would befall her again, past there, throughout, leaking and dragging her evermore into the voiding fray: all the rest of that dissonance!  It shall empty her bereft of tears, for there would be no moment to cry and regress, naught more to weep; naught even to take her hands aloft in beatings of her own; but lest a maiden to be sold as the diametric, that upon all claims she is exhumed of husk components, what left is there to understand and take hold but the crux itself?  Here are ruins in all manner of delirium, monolith townships stood high over the fields and the cities, disposed to tapestries, lighted screens flickering desolate, projecting flashes thricefold upon each frame and all blinding conceit whither one’s rambling shall pierce the first of many endeavours: for the administration of a great notoriety, a donnybrook more, willed massacres, by initial speculative glance what care to proffer grand threads in the same method that other woman composes, that they be reciprocated true to complement, yet equally so shall an artifice be enclosed once for fraudulence and again for sincerity, grander, grander still for the bloodshot whereof an affidavit may unknown cunts proctor and dispatch and impugn and lie and tongue their comprisals — taken by a mass of filth unto curiosities made for untrusted curiosities and screaming terrors hither through crowds, for vandalism by one unrestrained; all the vileness an amalgamation would sublimate and a disgusting, ugly woman may be beaten on wondrous account, unceasingly, engulfing over and over per entirety of pleasure until contracted in whole to yet another beleaguered anonymous for establishment by proofs theoretical, proofs curated — all the same, proofs entrenched — and should perfidy grasp hold of another human, seek now to cast both far into that ever-aggrandizing disconnect before tallying a suicide:  Therein lies the axiom of logic!  There, there: Yes, she now understood herself poised by her own two unwounded legs, terribly awake, terribly alive, able to speak back to that fucking woman, the raucous whore, angel as she is, what shades of compassion upheld in a cold dance and erraticism to display, and all the while were these sensations true — perhaps it is cold because she is a whore; perhaps it is dark because she is a marionette, and she has been emptied and frantic; perhaps it is neither — the angel might take to Samantha’s arms as a companion, for that is the sensible path amidst horrors, and they would both conclude and continue upon a jaunt — this girl could simply be a girl — nonetheless one she may discard.  There began the altercation: Her first question came as a demand, almost a screech, “What the fuck’s happening?  What are you doing to me?”  Samantha turned with contempt.  She refrained from asking if she was going to be hurt.   

“Madam Halley, I— I’m sorry, but this is all for recovery—!”

“No!  No— What the fuck do I need to still need to be here for, what—?  You— The lot of you— Taken me somewhere!  Where are we, then?  Tell me!”

There passed a short lull before the woman’s response.  “A— Along the west of the Rhône, madam, in France, so please, I’m bearing you not to worry.  We’re— We’re located three kilometres west—”

“Who the hell are you?  Who are you with?  Fucking nonsense—!  Why did you take me?” A terrible hatred had now blossomed; she would not prevent herself from lashing out.  “Your voices—!”

“M— Madam—”

“And I can’t remember a damn incident at all!  I’ve got no wounds or anything, just fucking let me out already— Who’s keeping me here?” Samantha gestured to the window and stepped forward.

“Please, you must be understanding: we’ve determined your poisoning to be mild — others haven’t been so fortunate!  You may leave once you’re able, please—  You must now believe in us — it’s already affected your hearing as well—!  There was a series of multiple troubles that broke out, and you lost consciousness, I swear on it!” she exclaimed desperately.

“What could you possibly—!”

“You were lying unconscious on the street because of the gas, that’s—! It’s the conclusion we’ve made...” she spoke with an excessively weakening tone, and Samantha fell silent, flagging the other as much an aberration as she was loathsome, horribly loathsome; and yet, upon noticing this change in demeanour, she beckoned to herself in a furor and suddenly thought this woman’s desperate new countenance wondrous as well for her to indulge, caring little for what a portent it seemed whither it was soon hoisted and the malice of figureheads drawn on the loftiest heights.  Hereupon the quandary had Samantha suspended her by the lanceheads prospect, ferocity, marshalled steadfast no longer as one rotten, but distilled of another curious entity to throes and throes and throes in memoriam; she screamed even louder out upon her thoughts towards the girl. “Oh, a field, a field!  Fuck— It’s all a damned field; to fight, to dance — fields and dregs—!”

She took out her phone, as she had done multiple times throughout the night, thinking at that moment there somehow lay a sudden possibility to contact anyone she knew, but soon discovered it had already died prior.  “No, when did— God, my— My phone, shit!” There was another flare of delirium and another swell of disgust for the girl across from her, but these intermingled in haste with a twitching of new insults she could not decide thence to yell aloud, more to scraping her palms and fingers with bloodthirsty nails, would have rummaged her very pace along the length of room entire — her own accord had naught but a consistent wander and flitted forwards and backwards within all ranks of debasement; where she perceived that girl had been kept in fragility, it took hold of a wide grandiose space, thrashed with frantic breath, scalded of tears, and thus by the rot of fatigue was coerced never to relent upon her own cautious theft; thither shall she be replenished in a charm to thrash anew — yet now: one ought not to bow, no!  Now would she seek to foster some beloved poise of wherewithal, one of that mark, that ever lovely marking, and of fettle.  “It’s all nonsense, it all should have been thrown off... I’m still safe, I am unhurt— Unhurt— Oh, to hell with it—!  I’ll take it all to embrace!  And steal it all away — I’m a fiend, fucking— Just all feral—!  But this theft is mine, and it has to be a charming theft, not to wound any one of us with; a theft I ought to take pride in, and not to bury!  Am I to disregard my efforts?  How about the gi— How about her?  I won’t denigrate myself.”

Samantha referred again to the woman, “I fell asleep! I know— It was just after I left my room—  I— Shit—! And how could I trust all this, then, how can I get rid of your voices?  You’re lying, you’re lying!  You’re fucking mad, I’ll leave this room— I need to call someone—”

“If— If you’re allowing that I shall explain it all in full—” She pulled out from the cloth of her dress a document and so approached Samantha in a singular motion, who braced herself with alarm.  They both paused, but with a great reluctant heft, Samantha soon grabbed the paper she held.  It was a medical report, proving that, indeed, she was there on verified terms due to gas poisoning, with diagnoses duly facilitated by a physician of the name Corsair.  All specific details of her admission as an ostensible inpatient were transcribed as the woman had appealed, and the records of her own body she had previously retained knowledge of truly were accurate.

“What the fuck—!  Well, why— Why on earth am I in here instead of a hospital?  Are you trying to fucking scam me, get me into some awful shit, then?” she asked upon skimming the report, but though she waved it with a brusque flourish in full view, almost pointing to it as well with her other hand, a separate interest had slowly been supplanting all her current thought.

“It was outlined— For reasons of logistics is all, Madam Halley.  We aren’t here exploiting anything, those— Those much worse off have been sent for prompt aid—”

There was nothing in her statement she would believe — she spoke falsely, this Samantha knew without hesitation, yet her own contempt had by now been easing to some manner of resolve, and upon a lurch of pity, she began to observe her body in whole, almost scoffing as she did so, wishing to run across so violently that she might have clutched her long dark dress and torn it asunder, thrown it down, for the frailty of its make, stomping and retching on it afterwards with naught but a whim at the horrid sight of her — what reasoning she allotted for the woman in black thus trembled — every throb of her words and mouth and lips was hereby scathed upon Samantha’s memory; a proclamation of her fancy latching hither, that her nails would away from her own pleasures to abrade the skin of the woman’s neck: where she would choke her with the veil she had worn, not to silence, but to admonish, for so brazenly had she uttered her lies, thence to be forced of due recompense.  “But why,” Samantha thought, “does she have to tell me all this while she’s hiding so obstinately?  She holds her weaknesses up around too fucking much, far too much!”

“We have all necessary facilities free for use.  Please, please, we’re not hurting you, and we won’t hurt any others — some have already come to, and they’re out in the halls, I shall swear on it,” both her voices began to quaver, yet she continued.  “We salvaged whatever belongings of yours we were able, and have done so as well for those others who were also displaced.  To— To your request for delivering a message: I was directed here that I shall ask with whom we must speak for verifying your safety.  I... beseech you.  Madam Halley….”  Though these finals words retained a stumble of a tremor, the woman’s decorum plodded to strength, and she soon propped herself into a regard similar to that with which she had first entered, only now expectant for another remark from Samantha’s behalf, the latter herself had noticed, who then wished to exhibit her disgust with all she would charge for her own bearing.  The two women stood wordlessly in the first true respite of their conversation.  Samantha was first to cut this impasse.

“So how on— What the hell happened, then?” She paused for a brief moment before continuing.  “What, did all of you come across us by the streets after this… fucking— Monoxide thing?  Are you certain?” Every lull in speech grew slightly longer between her questions. “This paper — all it says is I’ve injured my head, so what the hell, is that why I took so long to wake up?  Has my hearing been done in, then?  I don’t even feel any pain, just when was this?” 

“We did encounter you, madam, only two days ago— One of our own — Maria is her name — she was the one who found you.  We’re urging all of you must rest a bit longer, if only for tonight.  The symptoms disappear only after a fair amount of time, so please.”

“But I can’t remember taking a trip to— What is it, France?  I just don’t— Damn it—” Samantha attended this story with fashioned speech and prodded along with an affected cadence, where all notion remained to equal the same furtiveness the woman had already accrued — but now twice over had a thrill of roguery been enkindled in this new exchange, and she could scarce contain the haste in her voice.

The woman stared at her.  “It’s— All the same, madam…. The trauma to your head— Please, what concerns must you be having?  If it’s the institution’s treatment, we will help you however we can, I swear on this.”

“Well, why the hell are you asking that?  What, is there anything I should be worried about?”

“I—!  Nothing at all!  I don’t suppose there’s cause for any anxiety, if that be the case.” She gave a pause.  “... We’re simply requiring you visit Doctor Corsair in his station after I depart.” 

Samantha glared, unwilling to falter. “... And the fees, the medical fees, what about them?  This isn’t a proper hospital or a clinic or something, yeah?  It’s all independent— What, do I need to pay, then?”

“There are none, madam, there’s nothing for payment.  The emergency was chanced upon; it’s a misfortune, as were its effects.  The representative of this land — ah, this institution — is simply lending support.”

“...”

“... You truly are in our care.  We have medicine, stations for communication, food— Please trust now in me.”

“Gah, this is so stupid—” Samantha restrained her words.  She looked down again at her phone and tapped on it with a fervent poke, frowning and craning her head down well enough that she considered the woman to have watched her thus with all commitment.  “Well then, fine.  Then could you at least tell me where you lot keep your phones?  Or your chargers?  Tell me where the other patients are, too.  Or that doctor of yours.  I’d like to ask them about all of this first — just something on that end.  I need to know more, I just— All of this— It’s fucking confusing,” and pushing her hair away, she glanced up back at the woman, who had flinched somewhat in surprise.  Samantha exhaled with a short silent laugh.

“Yes— The other patients— But, would— Would you allow— Would you want our help in contacting—”

“No, no: There’s no need, I’ll be able to do it in my own right,” Samantha took some steps forward. 

“… Of course, madam.  Could you then come this way—”  To a faint gesture of her palm, they both started for the door; Samantha almost bounding along, eager at once to leave.  There was nothing more for her here — an object had since been seized, and as she prolonged her very movements with the swift perkiness of each vague idea, question, all imposition that crowned upon the principalities of her vigour, she even spun around to observe the woman in black, and she angled her arms to urge her astride as well as she could implore in the little subtleties of each motion; even to a foremost discernment did she perceive an impulse to take her away upon the designs of her own night.  When they neared one another, Samantha was caught unaware of how truly diminutive she had been all this while, in both stature and composition: her physique was unimpressive, and her dress was rather obviously discordant with how she carried herself, conducted as she was with reserved airs; it was a combination of due professionalism accoutred with some personal shyness — more than likely was it that accuracy lay greater per contra, Samantha thought. The woman moved aside to give her passage, but having Samantha cross her way, started once more in another surprised jolt, tripping slightly, and hurried her walking pace, fussing with small awkward movements in anticipation of the door, perhaps unknowing if its lock was still fixed in place, or if there was even a handle remaining at all.  Heading towards the entrance, they had both not walked five more paces before she turned abruptly, with a clumsy swivel, almost bumping Samantha. “Oh—!  My apologies—!”  She had stepped forward to appease some anticipation of aid, then stepped back with equal haste.  Samantha stared again at her, and now with an updated view of the woman’s constitution, thought her to be even more amusing than she first realized — wondering thence how she would perhaps react should she reach up high and yank her veil directly downwards.  As she grew slightly more curious, the woman faced her and gave a query of her own, “I should ask….  If— If you’d like, Madam Halley,” she turned her head to the door as she continued, “we’re holding a banquet some hours from now—”

“What the fuck, are you really?”

She took a sudden firm step forward to Samantha.  “Oh, yes— Cors— Doctor Corsair planned it so, for the especial moment you and the other victims were recovered well enough.  He mentioned something of the sort about morale, even further recuperation as we resolve everything later for discharging you all.  Would you— Apologies, I ought earlier to have asked: Would you join us for that event after your visit to Corsair?  I’m requesting you to no end that you must meet later with him.”

With every remark given about the named doctor and a decidedly matching inquisitiveness for this gathering, Samantha’s intrigue burgeoned upon each brisk heft they took to reach the door — at once, she even felt hungry, replying no sooner than they had approached it, “Are you serious, then?  Yeah, I guess I could pop in, why not?  At least for a little while.  Just not until I can get a hold of someone in my contacts.”  Stepping out into a rather dim corridor, she pondered about her. “So, for phoning, where’s the area?  I’ll go there first.”

The woman fumbled through her dress once more, taking out a slightly thick set of papers.  She gave it to Samantha.  “Yes, of course— I’ve a map— Here depicts the design for this establishment, madam.  I’m once again sorry, I can’t accompany you for prolonged periods due to our labouring schedules.  I’m hoping this suffices.  If there are any further concerns, you may ask Maria, my superior, once she’s available.  She can be identified by her black dress, similar to my own.  When you’re sure she’s nearby, just call out to her.”

“Well, it’s— That’s fine, I guess.  Thank— Thank you,” Samantha took it from her, and guessing it most prudent to ask at that moment, she continued, “And where’s everyone else—?  No, actually:  Whatever in the world’s your name?” 

She stood unspeaking for a longer time than Samantha had expected, enough to stifle what choice measure of familiarity she had procured with her, as drifting that measure had been.  Though turned her way, she stared off elsewhere — it seemed to Samantha apparent even with her veil. 

“My— My name is Evdokija, madam.  There are others—”

“And what are you— What do you do here?”

“… I’m under service to this establishment.  There are others who have already been woken; you’ll encounter them, I’m certain, if you walk along the path to our communication areas.  I only ask now,” she set her entire figure directly towards Samantha, “that you refrain from behaving unnecessarily.  Do not dawdle within any unmarked areas of the tower or disturb anything — anyone, moreover — for reasons of safety.  Once you’re able, please go to Corsair, and afterwards, I shall try and meet you at your destination; if this fails to push through, I’ll send for Maria instead.” Bowing with pointed elegance, the woman Evdokija turned and left on her way down the hall.  Samantha started off towards the opposite direction in quiet mirth.

The hallway she had entered was lengthy, and appeared old.  It was almost silent.  Each of its open windows upon the right was outfitted by thin flowing curtains, all fluttering at her side as she continued along.  She turned in slow pace and observed them, having settled down first upon the nearest cloth to remain in watch as long as her advance would provide before she glanced off towards the next, straying neither by their display in the wind, nor even by the landscapes outside the building.  Though she had managed to leave the room, she was instead preoccupied not by the new passage, but by Evdokija’s departure, her final accompanying recommendations, more to the medical account with which she had attempted to reconcile with Samantha herself; that strange clothing, and the very facets of her demeanour upheld unto their meeting; the woman’s frail voices by every stammer to what details she chose to relinquish, however much her slight frame crossed and cast on over in stance whenever she cowered in the sheer black of her raiment amidst the dim of the room.  Samantha peered behind:  Evdokija could no longer be seen.  The very same white curtains were the sole features in proper view, even to the farthest ends of the hallway, for not had a single source of light been installed thither, yet similar furnishings as of her initial room could be outlined partially within the larger indistinct spaces of the hall.  The scenery outside did not inform her with any more discretion, and when she had expended effort to come close, push aside a curtain and peer out at angles previously unobservable in the room, she did not see anything of note, naught but evening dark within close proximity.  Fair moonlight had graced the pales of the trees and grasses beyond, further to trail some dancing flickers of light upon a vast blackness distanced away — she guessed thence that it was shining across water, perhaps, as with Evdokija’s insistence, truly of a river — but much like the hallway’s own interior, nothing could be descried with accuracy.  She leaned a hand upon a window and had scarce bent her head down through before she decided there was no method to fit herself past any of them, and that even if she were able, the current floor was too aboveground for safety.  As Samantha raised and examined the first of the papers she had been given, her attention fell fixed not upon her current whereabouts, as she had expected, but upon areas she did not initially intend to latch her focus by, snapping her eyes here to corners, there now to spaces far removed from any mark, beset by various perplexities of some seeming patchwork as a throb of urgency took hold in her confusion for the details provided: whatever she had been presented with was undoubtedly a map, and though she could identify her location and destination, every drawn passage, each outline and graphic had altogether congested the entire page with messes and crossings and junctions, shapes and symbols, sometimes overlapping one another, in certain areas merging: a path that curved about in one instance before it was severed by odd grids, a large rectangle filled with indecipherable visuals, areas cutting off sporadically with neither cause nor remark written elsewhere as notes.  Her initial startle was turning more and more bewildered as she skimmed through the pages, reached the end before simply flipping the entire collation over, deducing how truly and terribly replete it was with errors.  She grunted aloud in frustration that the map proved to be of even further hindrance, thus stuffed it back without care inside her pocket as her pace so quickened; there remained only an insistence to walk down the hallway.  By each advance of scrutiny, she grew slightly more accustomed to the ambient moonlight and realized the hall was even structured likewise to the room from which she had come, of such simple architecture and linearity that would have scarce amounted to its superfluous representation on the map — she exhaled once more with disdain and did not bear to observe anything further, for these new elements seemed otherwise to be as inscrutable as everything that had befallen her for the past hour.  Each empty hall lured along her steps to turn at once and follow as she trudged by their adjacent entranceways, but with an equal impassioned rejection, she looked back down upon her current route, cursed in her own rightful excess, was at times inclined to scour the map for hope of anything useful however regardless of her faith in its reliability; Samantha had begun to ruminate, incised of a theory, ruminate again, thinking that to do so should unearth even the slightest assistance and each grant of her account would bolster any circumstance towards a strategy from hereon, therewith the aimless, cursory turn of a gaze towards the premises outside, thus beheld the night entire for her memories.

She had woken cold and breathless, laid across one of the room’s couches.  Her immediate bearing was to cradle her arms near.  She drew her coat even closer for what graces of warmth she felt from the nearby hearth to be carried even more as she rested — yet in the next instant curtailed this and cried aloud, wrenched upon her clothing to inspect herself, pulled at her own limbs, inspecting secondly the room, seeing the flames across from where she lay then shifting focus towards the sills, the shadowed trees beyond, a single table in proximity on top of a wide empty rug beside shelves of books towering high, more and more of these in endless count far off away into dim areas that as she craned her head about she wished no longer to observe and every bitterness for sight caused ill to gash raw her throat, a great ravaging upon the window glass, that everything had come to quake, from some force outside in a seeming downpour or a seeming tempest she could not claim to notice by the statures of a dark dying stronghold, whence each new consideration replaced the one prior with such ferocity that she was unable to determine recourse for a movement than interrupt them all wherefore in watch of the fires, and so clutched herself more, kept erstwhile, blinking slowly, naught for court to the matter, nor relief in breath, nor a single act of shock, anger, fright, sat opposite those great dancing fires to gaze on, uttering not a sound.  She noticed nearby a folded blanket, stood and sighed by the slight stumble of her legs as she took it thence to wrap the cloth about.  There had fluttered in her chest a simple ease to smile, for however brief a moment, but was soon beset: a slight swaying crept through her poise; a bout of dizziness had come and gone.  Samantha kept her eyes closed in tight grasp of the blanket.  She raised a foot slightly, and though her first stride had attempted to brace herself thus, she pressed it down with sudden brutish force that her very balance was ill-taken and she almost fell of her own accord, yet with a shout, retained this manner aloft her boots to such disjoints of exertion; her knees, her ankles, bones and limbs still would not abate their trembling; she cursed to herself and through the brunt of her words leaned on this leg with a heft for every heavy exhale interrupted, thinking all had been exhausted already of stimulus thereto pain, encroaching on numbness — she waited until her shudders had subsided to persist in another step, continued as such before waiting once more, feeling less cold, breathing terribly, repeating this over, back and forth in front of the flame, there assumed a steady pace around.  More than half of the area inside had no light.  Samantha had approached the door a fair distance removed from the fires, and with a soft push of the handle prepared to leave, but could not open it.  After attempting once and twice more, it had remained locked — the ease of her fingers lingered in place, touching it ever lightly unto the very final moments of her inclination as she broke away, for she had already begun to turn her figure back towards the hearth and seats set aside, the twirling firelight glow opposite the farthest reaches of her view deeper past the shelves, and perhaps some better means to keep away from the cold along with her blanket, thus returned instead to the room’s foremost arrangement.  On the table was laid a simple note with the words Please wait! written down, of which she now presumed to be the handicraft of Evdokija.  Heavier curtains than those in the hall were hanging by the windows, and they seemed to Samantha of antique make.  As she peered towards the left extension from where she had been sleeping, her gaze was cast once more across the lines and lines of wooden bookshelves occupying the room’s darkest unlit areas.  She could see neither the opposite side nor any large window that was placed there, as had structured the left side of the hearth’s own wall.  The room itself overlooked a thick forest constantly headed by cold winds, and behind it she had made out the unmistakeable glimmer of light held across plains of black; even farther could she outline tall silhouettes of buildings and a few number of lit windows strewn across the horizon.  It was a city set deep into the night; and as it were, Samantha wondered as to her true location.  She had taken her phone by hand, but found it could not connect to any given signal — its battery had already been teetering then to complete outage, and elapsed completely during her meeting with Evdokija — resorting instead to photograph her surroundings from the room outwards.  The moon at that hour was considerably bright and lit up streaks across from the windows, striking out casts of firelight therewith in its space — it was welcome lambency, and after she ensured she had optioned all feasible in her confinement, that naught else could be done but follow the instructions on the sole paper provided, only then did she pick out a book from the shelves and began to read.  It had not taken long, however, for her to encounter a dilemma: the language of the novel was unlike anything she had encountered, and taking to the shelves once more, she singled out another, only for it to result likewise.  “The fuck, how old must these be?” she pondered, for each page had harkened to artefacts that could not compare with any writing she had come across before.  Another and another of these books had been chosen, and of the ten she took, only two were written in languages seemingly familiar, but of which she still failed to wholly understand, even with whatever images and illustrations she had seen while turning their pages — she assumed these both to have been written in a bygone form of English.  To the remaining eight, she was quite confused, almost astonished with their inclusions to the shelves, more so with the conceivable rarity of their texts and the accessibility of the lot in such a place, and resolved instead to adhere interest to the two English books at hand until the door were to open.  As she remained languid with these, she had allowed her mind to wander off and more closely inspect the features of the room.  It was strangely old: a cross of a foyer and a reading area with that grand fireplace flaring bright before her, lined and set with cut stone.  This was supported on top by an arch of intricate carved wood; a castle came to mind when she had first taken notice of its details.  As Samantha looked nearer below the table upon the rug, she almost laughed, for it was fashioned with such especial charm and intricacy that she believed no other decoration could have been bestowed to the room than the very fabric itself.  The room’s entire count of furnishing had been embellished with similar antique flair, robust and weighty, as of the curtains — yet altogether cold.  She attempted to move her initial upholstered seat closer by the fire out of discomfort reading, but it had been too heavy.  In compensation, she rose up and dragged aloft the centrepiece carpet, but to her surprise, once she managed to lift it up from the floor, some second cloth had also been laid out underneath: a silk, frayed somewhat, embroidered by designs and scenes she could neither place nor name, but of which she considered to surpass of even more beauty, and with it so chose instead to drape herself, atop the first blanket, embracing her dear legs close as she brought her elbows in alongside, sit down regardless, and simply forge on.  It was then that Evdokija had opened the door and entered, and Samantha clambered up to face her.  

That had all now appeared before her as a distant comfort.  Should the door have never been locked, Samantha assayed to spin about immediately and return — with a hand waving through a nearby curtain, felt she was leaving something behind, there in the room before the fires, and per a gasp, breached through by the gentleness of her steps unto incredulity, yet along the lift of every procession accrued thence the adorning route for a farewell — still believed with all resolve that she might have remained for longer in the warmth.  She had been fond of the silk.  She had naught to sensation, nothing more but soft colds to her limbs and legs, that she sought every seldom moment in a giggle to rub herself for a little fever.  She would be coupled with books and her phone until she were to acquiesce deep in fatigue, of an unruly sort.  All perplexity of collapse would be flourished in conjunction with a call to rapture, looming and dusked as echoes far away whither they may have galvanized the forefront — to this could she enswathe herself opposite the hearth, and laugh to herself in the midst of erratic apparitions.  There would be no relief from distress, however, and when the other woman had unlocked the room, all charm of melancholy and of vehemence was thus surmounted. “Fuck it all — I could’ve just tried to brace the door with the fucking seat!  With all my strength!  Oh, wasn’t it— Was it not so wondrous to have stayed inside?  I could’ve walked bare upon the cold of that room to discover what lay across, then would’ve retreated back to the fire in druggy jovial pursuits, that I’d be— That I would be entrapped!  How many shelves were there?  I could not tell; the dark steeped endlessly.  What simplicity was presented, with straits barring me likewise from passing — that woman Evdokija.... At least one of us was able to succeed!  Damn, it was almost diegetic: a fireplace at night — but here lies a greater object!  Think of it now, Sam: we were not to remain in there for long.  It’s a dreadful concept — so says all our recorded — and each measure of such caprice must be dashed away lest we are stolen in kind.  I am to proclaim thus: Where shall I find a comrade, one as lamentable as I have been tonight?  Oh, brave man, blood of bloods; oh, kind woman, heart of hearts!  Would you remain repose to some moon-touched lamplight; would you choose instead to make merry inside these labyrinths evermore?  Or would you follow me, and me alone?  I might grant you leave, if you would acknowledge yourself thus as yet another charmer amongst the grounds — and well, should you fail, I shall simply assume such charm for us both!”  And interweaved through the halls were her hands afforded to the catching and clasp of stars, and past the mantle shone a stab-mark of light — Samantha felt in her very soul that she would surely be able to attend that banquet, and all she would observe thereafter she had resolved to uphold in correspondence with steadfast of her remain, whereby each fissure is kissed, then encapsulated, a gift forged prerequisite to the absolution, amelioration and reconstruction of thorough adversity — but alas!  That adversity!  Wherein such concepts, should they be hereby actualized, a body above must needs throw itself aground, proclaim this act per concurrence, gather thence another body, seeking out downpours further and further withal by a unit and its wreathes to re-instate thus for a bombardment regardless of heft; so exclaims the foxhole citizenry, those brave students, their brave madcapped, every burdensome courtship elected later in starfallen, cresting, storming heaps of fireworks — arousing now those creatures who might sweep upon what ignorance that would vilify, for these deplorables would soon accomplish great ventures through those hearts of hollows soever morose and mutual by ascent that sorrow forges a mainstay hence for company: a tale of mythological course unto perennity whither embellished of its own grand siren dispersion — a firework shall explode as fragments in such a storm, and a woman now beset with resounding in the billows; an advent has alighted — and remnants shone fantastical in all our ignition with the bloom resulting before us — dispatched to charge solitary down the causeways as she will doubtless find herself in the middle of those cursed cold rains; there it began — how she knew it would amount—!  Reproach such a curse!  Reproach that inundation ultimately rotting, for this commensurate act proffers exultance in a revolt, and she will march on against the onslaught, from mutinous ardour to the ballasts and their tumult and their grievances respective; a worldly warring to all complementary!  She is paraded an outsider in this storm; even the bell-heaved have infiltrated these halls — the whole aggregate condemning her foreign — and they are condemned alike and apart: Each curtain would sway in the fog as a ghost apportioned to a grandiose spiral of cycles and cycling of dances where suitors come prospect by a strangerful lining the hall for her response; all is burning with the moon.  She leapt across and strode down with ecstasy, tumultuous in her display, exponentially, terrifyingly so; gashing herself in the shattering of isolated legions upon glass, yet scourging forward nonetheless: for how is one to be enticed if the remaining paths do not wound more?  She shall suffer herself for the sake of her beloved self: The donnybrook guffaws as one, and resumes a two-stepped dance; the storm-girl arrays herself with the sundress of a million fireworks — an arm emerges from her tongue, and splinters her into particles more.  “Oh, what joy, what joy!” she expressed, and there was a wild happiness upon Samantha’s face.  She pirouetted and bounded and sprinted through the hallways, passing by paintings and statues, entrances to other corridors, upholstery and drapes and doors and doors and doors, and when she had fancied to turn down right at that very moment at the end of that very hall, she did so without the slightest unwillingness — and, indeed, her commitment proved valuable! 

She ran around the corner to find another long hallway, but occupying the midpoint was something new: there was a table set with a small lamp, and around it were seated two women.