Sarah had been coming
to the Labyrinth for over half a decade by the day on which she found
its king, with a freshly stitched cut on his right cheek, playing
with a wished-away child -
- widdershins thirteen
times around her room, colourful walls pinwheeling together, and
dizzily through the mirror; forget which way is up (the dizziness
helps) and hop twice to the left, because it's Tuesday (maybe) and
play skip-rope with the ceiling fan, then out through the skylight
into the long dimly-lit gold stone hatcheries of the False Alarms.
