I had a dream that my sisters and I were hunting for something precious through a labyrinth of hotel rooms. (It’s always a labyrinth.) We kept getting killed. But every time we respawned, the traces of how far we had gotten before were still there. A set of lockpicks tossed in a corner. Muddy footprints at a junction.
In the last room I remember before waking up, my sisters were cornered on a sofa by a man who was threatening them with a lethal weapon. I was standing off to one side, so I could see that on the wall behind the sofa one of us had scrawled “escape route: ARSON”. And on the side table within reach of their hands, an oil lamp, lit…
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