The darkness ever deepens. As you stumble your way through the shadows of the earth and stone, you stumble into what seems to be another world. The stone walls are climbed by creeping vines, a carpet of moss cakes the floors. Bursting through the stone tile, forcing it's way into the room, is a single tree. It curves at the roof and arches to the side, green and alive despite it's unnatural location. Fluttering around the room, under cover of darkness, are all manner of butterflies and moths, seemingly without predator, flapping to and fro. Occasionally they land on the flowers blooming on vines, then take to flight, fluttering around the tree and the roof, across the moss and vines, all manner of color displayed in vivid beauty.

You cannot comprehend how a butterfly garden seems to have spontaneously appeared deep in the labyrinth. Despite this, the sight of such miniscule joy and beauty in a place such as this restores your resolve, and you stop the rest on the moss with butterflies for a while, restoring your strength and fortifying your mind.

The butterfly garden is a good place to be.