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I never dreamed of this fate in my youth, though I feel I could have expected it. I was
never like the other children. Born unto royalty, but never treated as if that meant something.
“That thing,” my family called me, and I grew used to it—along with disdainful looks,
lonely days, and familial neglect. I can remember the aging hours that would pass in lonely
silence as I puttered about my rooms, separated from most of the hustle and bustle of the castle.
It was nice, yes, the tapestries on the walls, comfortable bed, and divine meals. But that did not
Late one night, my mother arrived at my room with a dark palla covering her head,
unusual for her in many ways. She was crying before she even entered my bedroom, though the
only sign of it was the loud sniffling. As I remember her, she was beautiful, but that was many
years ago, and I never saw her again after that night. She rushed me from my bed and had me
dress in my chiton.
“Mino, we must go.” She spoke my nickname softly, ever the gentle persuader. “Your
father has made arrangements for you,” she said, holding her hands out for me. I was young—
too young—and naïve, and so I went to her. She gave me a cloth covering and secured it around
my head before taking hold of my hand and ushering me from that space, an urgency to her step.
“To the ships; you are travelling tonight,” she murmured, her smooth voice breaking once
before resuming its usual regality. Now I know the aching behind that statement, but at the time I
was only excited to leave the confinement of my space and see something new.
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The streets of Crete were quiet, as everyone was shut up in their homes. It seemed odd to
be out so late, but my excitement eluded me, and I simply went on with my mother by my side.
Her sniffles became louder the closer we were to the ships, but they were immediately of no
concern once a cloth blinded my sight and several large hands grabbed hold of me from all
around.
Startled and confused, I let out a cry, and another, and another. The cool night air became
ice on my skin as I was separated from all that was familiar, and the soft weeping of my mother
vanished like smoke in the wind. As I understand it, I was brought to one of those horrible ships,
soon forgotten to the shouts of men as the floor under me began to shake and roll with reckless
abandon. Tied up, cold, and more afraid than ever, I did not like “travelling” one bit.
The sun rose at some point, and despite the water’s spray, it felt warm—not that it
subsided any of the terror within me. Time passed so slowly. I could hear conversations, vague
mentions of me, but mostly ambling words spoken in hushed voices as if to keep me from
hearing. I don’t remember those days so clearly anymore, but I do recall my relief when I was
finally placed back on solid ground. I assumed it must have been night, as it was cold and dark,
but by the time I had been untied and managed to pull the heavy fabric from my face, I found I
was alone and entombed. Whispering noises of footsteps grew softer, even as I tried to follow.
The walls around me blocked out all the light, and I could do very little except wander through
Hours turned to days, and days to weeks—or so I assumed. Time is hard to grasp in the
dark. I was left to eat anything I could hold onto for long enough. Blindly, I felt my way through
the labyrinth, running a hand along the cold walls. The endless stone paths echoed the sounds of
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my feet and breathing. I couldn’t tell if I was going in circles or retracing my steps. I couldn’t see
my hand in front of my eyes. Nothing seemed to be everything, and everything seemed to be lost.
Several times, I found myself crawling along the ground, bones aching, too weak to
continue. I would thrash against the walls in hopes of getting out, but my sore arms would do no
damage to the barrier. The heavy stone stood in my way, taunting me, and never moved.
Eventually I succumbed to the idea that I would live and die there for whatever small span of my
life remained.
I thought many times about my mother and father, wondering how they could have done
this—to their son, no less. Such a cruel fate they pressed upon me.
For many days, it seemed that the cold dark air would soon collapse on me, and so it felt
much like a mirage when I looked up to see the stone wall in front of me. Perhaps that does not
seem so grand a thing, but I could see it! The stone was roughly cut, a sandy gray color. It stood
before me so clearly. With a newfound spring to my step, I followed that light. The dark
corridors became bright, and they turned onto a dirt path that sparkled before me like divine
I collapsed upon the earth, this time not in vain but in desperate success. The sun was like
a pair of wings to my soul and the green grass around me became my bed as I soaked in the
world. I could hear birds calling out their names. Wind embraced me as a friend. I slept for days
in those sweet grasses as my aches and pains became dull and faded. It was a long time before I
heaved myself upwards and left the entrance of that labyrinth to stumble forth into the fields and
My soul felt lighter than it had in a long while as I moved down the path. The world was
living around me and I was there, alive within it. I found fruit in the trees that fed my wounded
body. A spring of water appeared before me as sweet as Aphrodite herself. I did not move on
from those groves for many days, fearing that it was all some dream.
When I finally found the strength to move on from what seemed like my personal
Elysium, I made my way to a beach covered in soft round stones, smooth against my calloused
feet. I stayed high on the shore and trekked around that land as far as I could go, hoping for some
sign of a savior, but found endless rolling waters instead. I walked for more than a day above the
tide line, watching the water rise to meet my feet before meandering away. It wasn’t long before
Lonely days passed, and the rain rolled in, but soon enough it was gone again, and time
loomed on without end. Vines grew up the walls up the labyrinth, and I explored some of the
tunnels once again, always with a torch and marking my way, wary of the depths.
It must have been months before I saw a ship on the water, white sails billowing. At first,
I thought that I was saved, but soon recalled memories of the people on the boat before. I hid
The men came, invading the maze. But while they knew nothing of it, I had learned every
twist. I met some of them along their path, their knees knocking together as they muttered about
a beast. Some ran when they saw me, some held their ground or would lash out. I was left with
no option but to fight back and flee. For the following days, if I ever went near the maze, I would
hear wails or shouting. I could not bear to enter until it was quiet again.
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I counted the days going by until they stopped mattering. Across the seasons, sometimes
a ship would appear, filled with men, all looking for some foul creature.
Some men would come to fight, others would flee. Regardless, none took the time to
listen, and the more I grew, the more the men would shake their fists, or stare with wide eyes.
Not one of them would take the time to say, “Come home. We know the way back.” Instead,
What could I do but lose myself? I was a toy on that island. A thing to be marveled at. A
pest to be fed and forgotten. I loathed those days and the bodies I buried on my island.
No one is born a monster. As the years went, I prepared myself for their arrival. I would
hide myself within my labyrinth, ready to fight them off. The ships came to shore just before the
turning of spring. As the flowers blossomed, those terrible men wandered into my halls. In
return, I had to slay them. Whether they got lost within the labyrinth to decay, or if I had to be
the one to kill them, they left me no choice when they brandished loud words and heavy fists.
The men that came became harsher, and I followed suite—until Theseus. He is a hero in my
story too.
That spring when I thought myself done for the year, Theseus came striding into my
halls, a torch in one hand and string in the other, brandishing no weapon. The torch light
flickered off his sweaty brow, his stern face looking much like my father’s, though Theseus’
expression was softer. I made ready to attack but was stopped by a single word.
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“Mino?” He spoke that which I had only heard from my mother’s lips. He seemed calm
and without anger, unlike the many others who came before him. I stepped forward, though his
feet stayed planted. “Your mother sent me. I’m not here to kill you,” he spoke.
“She wanted to know that you lived. She sent me,” he said.
Theseus’ demeanor was as steady as his voice—perhaps that is why I didn’t kill him right
there. Or perhaps I knew he was telling the truth. “If I return, no one will come here again. You
Theseus never hurt me, though people say that I was slain. Instead, he told me tales of the
many people he saved from folly. He mentioned Crete, my old home, and how he was to become
king someday. We were brothers, in an odd sort of way, and even after the terrible stories he
heard of me, he treated me as such. Theseus saluted me when I bid him farewell at my door. I
watched from a distance as his ship vanished, dark sails leaving my horizon. The days that
These days, I don’t mind what they say about me—those events were long ago. If the
angry Minotaur is still a terrible beast, then so be it. I may have been a monster to them, but only