The transition from the psychic torment of the previous level was so vast it felt like being born into a new, alien world. One moment Eleanor's mind had been a battlefield of echoing despair; the next it was uncannily quiet, forced into a state of singular focus.
She took in the challenge before her: a cathedral of pure geometric impossibility. A three-dimensional labyrinth of glowing white strands stretched into dizzying heights and depths, composed of light that shimmered with a gentle, deadly stillness. The threads moved with slow, inexorable grace, weaving and unweaving silent paths in a continuous, hypnotic dance.
The gaps between them were distinct and precise… triangles sharper than a shark's tooth, narrow slits scarcely the width of a shoulder, and complex polygons that recalled the Great Square of Pegasus or the Big Dipper… shapes that demanded a contortionist's intimacy with her own form.
