Labyrinth

I opened my eyes.
I lay sprawled out on cold stone, the scent of aged marble in my nose.
I couldn’t remember if I was dreaming,
I could barely remember who I was.
I finally started to stand up, my shoes scraping a layer of powdered granite.

Then, I felt it, a slow reverberating rumble, one that gradually filled the chamber.
The stone around me shifted.
I saw glimpses of tarnished copper and brass, as the walls unfolded, the rumble soaking into my chest.
I was moving upwards, though the ceiling and floor gave no indication.
The world opened up as the rumbling reached its crescendo.

I was in an antechamber, globelike in its shape.
A starry sky somehow stretched above me, held by twelve ivory pillars.
Soft blue light filled the room.
I saw the carved emblem I was standing on, a circle with lines like woven tapestry.
There was a throne of cracked marble and worn brass that sat on a raised platform.

I thought she was a statue at first, until I saw her blazing golden eyes.
She looked at me, and I felt so small.
“What about you?” Her voice was elegant and powerful, her tone difficult to read.
“What do you live for?”

Only then did I remember who I was.
I felt myself in someone's arms, listening to their heartbeat as I breathed deeply.
I saw a pen in my hand, and then a sword, a feather, and a little coin that meant something.
I remember looking at myself in the reflection of that window, knowing that I needed to be more, knowing that I wasn’t good enough.
Faces came and fell away.
The stars twinkled in the impossible sky.

My knees buckled.
My breaths were heavy.
I couldn’t look her in the eye until I gathered every scrap of courage and purpose I had left in me.

“For myself.”
My voice was a confident whisper.
“But I was never enough.”