The hedges started at the edge of the patio and grew up from four to eight feet gradually as you entered the maze. In the center stood a building, quaint and cottage-like. Curiosity was drawing me and I took my first steps off of the patio and entered into the maze. I wandered slowly as the shadows fell across the path creating a twilight within the afternoon sun. Gravel crunched beneath my shoes and I reached out to touch the shrubbery, the dense leaves scraping gently across my palm.

The path was narrow, but led to pockets of open garden with neatly trimmed roses, cultivated citrus trees, and the occasional statuary. I wandered for hours, until the sun dipped into the evening and the hedges threatened to choke out the light altogether. I knew turning back would yield me no satisfaction, so I pressed forward toward the center. 

A soft glow emanated from the cottage and drew me forward like a moth guided to light. I rounded the last corner and saw my prize before me. Lanterns sat in the windows, inviting me to the warming comfort that could be found within. I paused at the front door, unsure if I should knock or if I was permitted to enter. 

I turned the handle and found that it was unlocked, opening into a warm sitting room. It seemed as good a spot as any to rest after my trek through the maze and I wandered inside to an armchair where I settled to look around. Aside from the doors and windows, the walls were covered in shelves of books neatly stacked. Periodic sections had angled shelves with scrolls rolled neatly bound and stacked within. The air was filled with the rich aroma of leather and parchment, with that faint metallic aftertaste from the ink. 

It reminded me of the scribe quarters back home, and I found comfort in the familiar scents as I closed my eyes and soaked in the essence. The armchair was soft and worn from regular use, but my curiosity was too strong to stay and enjoy it. Across from the door I had entered was an open doorway that led to rows of shelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling, each stacked full with books and scrolls and bound stacks of parchment. It had the appearance of meticulous organization and I hesitated to touch any of it, lest I put it out of place. 

Then my eyes saw something familiar in the title of a leather bound volume. I pulled the book from the shelf, the goatskin soft beneath my fingers as I opened up the cover to see the pristine penmanship of a scribe from Ruun. It was a record of naming ceremonies, recent ones. I flipped through pages of names I was familiar with until I saw it, my own name. 

“Lilliana, Prince of the Moon.”

As I read the words on the page, I heard the click of the latch as the door in the sitting room was opened. Quickly, I closed the book and returned it to the shelf.