A heavy, translucent pane of frosted glass, set within a labyrinth—on the far side, vivid silhouettes twist, reaching toward the barrier with tongues of molten color; words, shaped like fluttering moths, collide with the glass and dissolve into gray ash before their meaning takes form; the glass shudders, etched with forbidden glyphs that pulse in warning scarlet; behind it, an infinite, humming field of wild, unopened flowers, swaying in a silent gale, their petals just out of reach, their scent yearning to seep through the cracks that never appear.