Come in, and hurry, time is running out.

You are now at the lowest level.

Step closer to admire these statues. They await, upright in the middle of the cave; they have awaited your arrival for longer than you imagine, with the patience of a stalagmite. Look, there are even smaller ones, for the children.

Come quickly: they have already begun to melt.

Examine their faces. There is something infuriatingly familiar about them. Drawing nearer to explore the finest details, you realize how closely they resemble you.

And as the cave collapses and liquefies around you, as the statues themselves contort and slowly sink into a sand that is becoming one with the sea, you want to be able to stay on, to hold them back just for a moment, to preserve the integrity of their already dissolving features, to confirm that these extraordinary and unexpected statues are indeed your own.

These statues that turn to limp paste between your fingers: are they you? If so, then you are and have always been part of the castle.

You were part of it before you even entered.

As your effigies dissolve, you run from this fate toward some kind of gallery that opens to your right, without knowing where it will take you.