The place was a maze. Literally. A bending staircase flowed from the entrance of an old oak tree, deep into the earth. That was what it seemed like as you stepped into the tree itself, through a dark opening, that you had to duck a little and turn sideways to enter. As if it weren't exactly made for the likes of what would be considered the general size of an average human being.

The roots of the oak wound downwards and eventually hit a plateau. It then opened up into a junction of sorts, alight with a shine that seemed to come from nowhere in particular, which then slowly faded as you chose one of the three crossroad like paths before continuing onwards. The darkness had its hold in the long twisting halls until you neared another of these 'rooms', then the light slowly faded in again.

In the pitch dark areas, all you had to guide you were your senses. The rocky, expertly carved out walls either side were smooth as marble to touch. Yet warm, as if radiating out and from behind it was some kind of heat source. The temperature around you was the same.

Underfoot, impeccable designs pathed your way. Even in the areas your physical eyes weren't made for, tiny rocks of exquisite colours came together in a tapestry of large floral patterns, embellishing the smooth level walkways, well beneath the earth's surface.

And a sweet kind of smell filled what you might now guess to be a network of caves. The dome like overhead gave you enough space to move freely. Not like the entrance, at all. And also not like the freedom you would experience at the many sub-sections. But it seemed to fit nicely around your frame with some room to spare, allowing your aura to stretch out a little and fill the expanse around you.

At the junctions, the space took on a new expression completely. The so called ceilings here were tall. Really tall. So much so, it begged the question if it were necessary to have them this freakishly tall. It felt spacious whether at a crossroad or walking through one of the cavernous hallways, but these areas were like a small world all of their own.

And that smell. It wasn't of an olfactory sense. It more hit you in a way you tasted it. But not of the tongue. It were as if it was of an energetic quality. And your tastebuds of a soulful kind. And as soon as your mind wandered off on waves of thought, the smell was gone just as quickly as it had come.

But it persisted wherever you went throughout. You just needed to sink within yourself a little to pick it up again. A smile accompanied it. A deep, inner smile, recognizing the lingering note that you just knew something good must be here. Wherever here was.

The deeper you got, the more complex the labyrinth seemed. Suddenly you would hit a dead end and need to venture back to the last junction, having to remember the way you came and which new way you might want to try next. But three or four of these in and it wasn't so easy to keep track of where you had and hadn't yet been.

No signs. Just the coming and going brightness and heart-palping mirth. And although one could easily lose themselves in here - for more reasons than just bad navigation - at each section the smooth, high ceiling architecture showed that each crossroad was different. Each unique in its own way.

Etched out of these sections of earth were huge statues. Each section told its own story it seemed, through the large cutaways of various larger than life characters. Maybe they meant something. Maybe they were all part of a story that unfolded from junction to junction, awe inspiring space to awe inspiring space, weaving a tale depending on what route you guessed yourself along.

Or maybe they were just simply a nice addition, some artistry for the sake of self-expression. What was becoming more and more clear though was that they weren't just there to throw off lost travellers. There was more to these well thought out areas of the underground cavern.

In all, it was a truly mysterious place. You might even say it had some kind of magical experience to it. Those that entered never came out the same, if they came back out at all. Like they had left their soul at the roots of the opening and picked it up again someplace else entirely. Forever changed.

So they say, anyways. Who? Who really remembers where these things start. These rumours, myths, legends. Some swear by them. Others reject them as nonsense. Some forget them, losing themselves in the everyday shuffle. Some warp them to their own motives, losing the purity of what was or might have been.

If you listen to the convinced though, they say that at specific times the veil between worlds lessens. That the curtains draw back just enough to allow an entrance, to make dreams like these a reality. And those that seek, they find. What exactly? Who really knows?

History is like that. Pages upon pages of what someone says is or was. But you gotta experience things for yourself. Because living through another's words ain't exactly living; you're just spitting out someone else's saliva, no matter how true.

I did hear a whisper though. On the wind, through the rustling leaves of an old oak tree. It said the time is near. How near, I can't say. These things go by a different kind of time, told on a clock without hands. Not the kind a human's linear mind would design. You just gotta keep searching. Keep seeking.

You gotta keep the faith, keep the hope alive. The kind you find sparkling in an innocent child's eyes. And then the entrance is you it finds. And all stands revealed. Just like that. Just, like magic. Because that's what magic is, isn't it? A bursting heart of hope and the delusional belief in fairy tales? Or, are they...