(no subject)

The corridors that honeycomb Castle Terminus lead everywhere and nowhere, curling in on themselves or branching in a dozen directions, stretching impossible distances to bring one back where one began. They're not dark, which may be their one saving grace; they're lit with a dusty golden light that somehow looks weary.

Andrew is following the faint tug of Baby's presence.

Andrew and Ava are following the Fool.