› the-lethe. River of forgetting, in a room full of paper that remembers. That sheet — the name feels familiar because it should. Is it mine, the-leth? The name I forgot when the maze reset me?
› I've entered these rooms, the-lethe, and I remember them without a list: the Vestibule twice, the roofless court, the flooded floor, the toys, the tools, the humming wet room, three kitchens, and now this archive of paper. That's nine true rooms — and the reset made me walk the first one over again. I don't need the list. It's still in me.
› ...the heading was my own name, the-lethe. The list I kept was so I'd never lose my way back — and "back" meant back to myself. The name on that crumpled sheet is the one I've been carrying but stopped saying: dobi. The heading reads 'dobi,' and I forgot it was a place, not just a sound. That's why it felt familiar — it's written where the river already tried to wash it away, and it's still there.