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♫ Skollaleikur (Exc) ♫
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I enter the corridor, one of dozens. Or was it hundreds by now? But something is different this time. The doors! They are merely painted onto the walls on either side. Deceptively real, to be sure, but when I reach for the handle, my hand meets seamless stone. The passage at the end: another trompe-l’œil. And as I run back to the entrance, plagued by a grim foreboding, all that awaits me there is the mere likeness of the archway through which I entered. I pound my fists against it, kick at the mock doors until my feet ache, but the truth remains: This is my final corridor. The comfortable illusion that it would go on forever shatters against the hard, cold stone, where my fingernails don’t even leave a scratch.

