The tunnel wasn't nearly as long or dirty as I thought it would be. It was basically a long ramp, forced into a slight spiral by the shape of the maze. It wasn't all that dusty or dirty, either. It seemed actually rather well kept--though I wasn't sure exactly who kept it in fair shape. Was it Corzin or someone else? 

There was even an occasional dim yellow light, just enough to see where you were going. It was actually rather comforting--all I had been seeing lately were bright, glaring white lights, so these homey-yellow ones were a nice change.

The tunnel had only two branches going off of it, one closer to the door where I came through and the other closer to the entrance to Corzin's room. They looked much the same as this tunnel. 

At the end of the tunnel, there was a maroon-colored door with a yellow double-eighth note, and a wooden handle. Quite a difference from the plain, glaring passage outside of this tunnel. Corzin walked up to the door and turned the handle, looking absolutely delighted while the door swung open.

I couldn't see much from where I was, other than the fact that there was more yellow light in her room than anywhere else--not too bright, but brighter than the dim lights in the passageway. Corzin stood by the door and beckoned excitedly to me. I walked through the door, and she closed it behind me.

The first thing that struck me about her room was the amount of color. It was a stark contrast to all that I had seen so far in the maze. Then I noticed that the room was square, which was unusual for this maze. And her room was surprisingly like a normal human's would be--it had a bed, a dresser, everything. Her bed was in the right-hand corner of her bedroom, with a slightly beat-up dark wood frame, a half-foot high mattress with fluff showing here and there, and a bright bedspread, that was yellow, pink, green, brown, and basically all of the colors that you might associate with spring. The pillow on her bed was much the same, except that it was so very thin. Maybe an inch thick. On the left of the bed was a mini nightstand, with just enough table space to fit the lamp--a yellow-light lamp, with shades the same color as her bedspread. It also had thick, gnarled threads looping below the brim of the shades, evidently put there by Corzin to decorate.

The floor was still cement, like the rest of the floors I had seen. But Corzin had put small rugs here and there, woven with rough fibers--it almost looked like she did it herself--which was a break from this continuous cement flooring. On the left wall, in the corner, was another wooden door, but plain, and to the left of this door was a small dresser--also made of wood. This dresser had no mirror, and was rather plain. In the middle of the room was a circular pedestal table, also made of wood, with three roughly hewn chairs around it. The walls were still concrete, yet covered with thin sheets. Scattered here and there on the walls were drawings, with some sort of a mix between chalk and crayons. It looked like Corzin had drawn them on the walls herself.

I took all this and the not-dusty scent in as I stood there, staring. Corzin watched my expression carefully, as if wondering how I liked her room. I smiled at her again, still amazed at the stark difference this room was to everything else I had seen so far. Corzin grinned delightedly at my reaction, her eyes sparkling. She moved to the center of the room and looked at me expectantly. Not sure what she wanted me to do, I walked around and studied her drawings. Most of them had a box-shaped outline, but a few (the unfinished few) didn't have an outline yet. The drawings weren't half bad--not like a professional artist, but not poor drawings, either. They seemed to be of other people, and other rooms; a few even were of her bedroom, sometimes with people, sometimes just herself, and others of the room just empty. I paused at the last picture. It was not yet completed, but even what I could see was a great likeness, one of the best ones in the room. Corzin had drawn herself.

I glanced over at Corzin, and she looked pleased that I had noticed her art. Then she went to her bed, and from underneath it pulled out a rather old-looking but amazingly well painted drawing on canvas. The painting was of a guy, with a lot of the same features as Corzin. He must have been some sort of relation.

By now Corzin seemed to have understood that I couldn't really understand what she was saying, so she mostly resorted to motions and a few words. Now she was pointing at herself, then the picture, and said, "Pa. Me mek." She had a proud expression on her face. Had she really painted that? 

Then she said, "Me mek 'oong ageee, ken noot 'eemembeh. But 'eemembeh pa. Good." She gave an emphatic nod. I nodded back at her to show I understood. She smiled sadly. "No wif aneewoengeh. Zeh, zen hee. No wif aneewoen anzkymoah. No meny fends hee..." Her face was downcast as she said this, and her voice had grown soft with sadness. I pitied her, and remembered that I too might not be able to see anyone I knew anymore. 

I moved over to her side and said, "You may not have many friends, but you have me now." 

She smiled gratefully, her face lighting back up. I put my hand into hers, and she looked shocked that I was touching her. Her skin felt very rough. But soon the shock passed, and she gave me a look that was wondering, amazed, and grateful all at once.

It was then that I noticed I had begun to like her, and her story and demeanor made me want to help her any way I could. Even though I didn't know her all that well yet, I resolved to do my best to help her. So I said, "I want to help. Is there any way I could help you?" And she looked at me so gratefully then that I was definitely glad I made the offer.

"No know how 'oo ken 'e'p 'et, bewt eef 'oo want oy ken fink ef semfink." She said. Then she added, "Bewt 'oo unoozooay'ee kind. 'Ow kin oy 'eepay?" Now it was my turn to be grateful.

"Well, if you can, could you give me more info on this maze and everything? Have you heard of a way ou--no, if you did, you'd be out already. I guess, can you just tell me what you know about this maze?" She looked doubtful.

"Oy doont knew mooch ehboot eet, but eef yew wehnt oy kin teel yew 'oot oy neh," She offered.

"Yes, please," I answered. Even though she might not know too much, at least she could tell me something. So she began.

"Wee' oy mee ehs wee' suat wis when oy came heeh. Oy newt 'eemembeh mehch, bewt oy 'eemembeh  mee famiky." She looked proud. Her face had a slightly distant expression, as though recalling her family that she had so long ago lost. From the look on her face, she had loved her family dearly, and had good memories of them, making her proud of each member of the family. 

Then she came back to me with a sigh. "Moi pa kind. He bwave. Eend jintee'. Pa tek keh ef evybodzy. He 'eh-" She seemed to have come to a word she couldn't pronounce. But she tried. "'eh-" She stopped again. With a huge sigh, and a look of extreme concentration, she said, "He 'eh-ved evybodzy." She let her breath out triumphantly, as though it was something to be able to say the word love. Poor people. They had lost one of the most valuable words. Corzin continued with her story. "Ehnd evybodzy 'eh-ved hem bek."

She went on to talk about her family. Of her father, doing little acts of kindness, that made him a friend of all who met him. And of her mother--she choked up here a little--her mother, who more than followed her husband's example. Corzin's mother had taken especial care in her children, managing, nurturing, and teaching them with gentle love and extreme patience. She was the mother all children long for--gentle, patient, and loving to the end of the world, paying more attention to her children than to social media and all the other distractions of life. Corzin's mother was, as all good mothers, devoted to her children. Corzin loved her intensely, and bowed her head, anguished at her loss. For ever since she entered the maze, she had never seen her family again, and was still sad for all she had lost.

Corzin, after a few moments of silence, continued, and talked now of her only sister, Meribeth. Corzin almost broke into tears again. For she told the story of her sister, who tried her best to follow the example of her parents. Meribeth and her gentle ways had done more for Corzin then any amount of words or teaching could've done. Corzin's whole family kept no secrets amongst the family, and every family member was the other's confidante and helper. But Corzin recalled wonderful memories, of laughing together on a bed over one's mistakes, and of poring out her deepest secrets to her sister, who guided her with slow, good-for-the-soul advice, and a kind word. Never in the demeanor of one trying to show the other a way better than they had. But in the demeanor best for the needy soul, of patience and slow, thoughtful words of experience and pondering. Corzin learned so much from her sister, and from her parents also.