She loved the smooth texture of the pillars, the sharp edges, the ins and outs, the recesses just enough for her to fit her body and be a part of the maze, the feel of never ending; while the trapped wind played with her wild tresses and whispered many a tune in her ears. Her feet would glide and slip over the soft moss, ever so often stumbling across a slug or disrupting a march of ants, while her probing fingers entwined with curtains of cobwebs.
Her sisters thought her crazy for spending so many hours in the drab, creepy place, for they had never experienced the corridor as she had; because when you can’t see the colours, you can feel and hear all the hidden beauty.
Written for Sonya’s Three Line Tales
photo by Jace Grandinetti via Unsplash