"What do you think of my labyrinth?"

Sarah turned slowly, her eyes wide, terrified of who she would find standing behind her. She sucked in a ragged breath as she looked up at the man before her. "You..." she started.

Their eyes met. They were his eyes. Crystal blue, one pupil larger than the other.

But, at the same time, they were not his eyes. There was no coldness, nor mischief. Only confusion, and perhaps concern.

He looked down at her kindly, a hint of worry gracing his features. 'His very not Goblin King-like features,' Sarah noted as she exhaled shakily. She took a moment to study his face. No swooping eyebrows, no ridiculous makeup, no glitter. No unruly hair, just plain blond locks, cropped short, which he had apparently tried to slick back, but were nonetheless falling around his face in disarray.

"Are you alright?" he asked, tilting his head to one side. "You look rather ill."

Sarah was jolted out of her appraisal of him, and felt her cheeks grow warm. She must have been losing her damn mind. This poor man. "Y-yes, I'm fine," she choked out, her voice betraying her.

The man before her narrowed his eyes for a moment, then forced a tight lipped smile. "I'm sorry if I startled you," he began in what Sarah guessed was a London accent. "I just noticed that you were looking rather intently at my art piece."

She reluctantly turned her attention back to the elaborate blueprint of a labyrinth — the labyrinth—looming before them. "Oh, this is yours?" Her voice cracked and she mentally kicked herself for it. "It's...uh, very intricate." Her eyes avoided his as she took a hardy sip of wine.

He paused, following her eyes. "I'll...take that as a compliment," he replied warily.

'Get a grip!' Sarah yelled internally. "I'm sorry," she apologized, looking up again and forcing a smile. "You just remind me of someone I used to know."

He laughed again, softly. It made her uneasy, even though he smiled kindly. "Well, judging by your reaction, I suppose I should be glad I'm not him."

What was the matter with her? "I'm so sorry," she said again. "I'm being rude." She turned back to his artwork, doing her best to be courteous. "This is amazing work." She meant that part. "Are you really the artist? You're..." she squinted at the small plaque mounted on the wall next to the canvas, "James...Conroy?" She looked back up at him, skeptical.

He seemed to relax a bit. "No need for apologies. And yes, I am." He extended a pale hand. "James."

She hesitantly reached out and accepted his handshake. "I'm Sarah." She smiled politely, not entirely sure why they were introducing themselves. As her hand met his, a static shock passed between them, causing her to jump.

"Sorry," he said, his eyebrows again knitting into a worried expression. "The air is rather dry here, isn't it?"

She laughed nervously. "Yes, it is."

An awkward silence fell upon the two as they each avoided looking each other in the eye. Sarah took another sip of her wine. She noticed that he didn't have a drink. Her eyes darted around the crowded gallery, but found no sign of her coworkers. She decided to turn her attention back to the art piece before her.

"So tell me, James," she started. His name was thick and awkward in her mouth. "What was your inspiration for such an...exquisite piece?"

"It's funny you ask," he replied, attempting to lighten the mood. "I'm actually not sure. I'm an architect, you see, so such designs come naturally to me. But this piece is rather...different from my usual designs."

"I'd imagine so." Sarah pretended to study his work politely. Every line, every angle, every detail of the blueprint was so intricate and precise, as if the artist had committed the design to memory. And if Sarah was being honest with herself, she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. The image was uncannily similar to her memory of the labyrinth of her childhood dreams. But how could it be? It must have been something like that...what did they call it, the Mandela Effect. Maybe everyone had had a dream of the same maze, at one point or another, or at least thought they had. Which would make complete sense as to why this James Conroy had created a blueprint of it, yet was unable to explain why.

"Things aren't always what they seem, in this place."

As she reasoned with herself, she noticed that he had grown quiet beside her. She looked over at him, only to catch him staring at her. His cool blue eyes met hers. Those chillingly familiar eyes. Noticing that he had been caught staring, he quickly looked away, causing a few more strands of his golden hair to come loose. Sarah shifted her weight between her feet, looking down at her empty wine glass. She used it as a means to excuse herself from this increasingly uncomfortable situation.

"Well," she started rather abruptly, "it was very nice speaking with you, Mr. Conroy. Congratulations on the piece; it's quite interesting." She nodded at the canvas and forced a smile, but did not make eye contact. Before he could respond, she dipped back into the crowd, making her way back to the bar.

Sarah didn't look back, but if she had, she would have seen James Conroy looking after her, a distant look of something resembling confusion marking his features.