A space without walls, without direction indicators, without visible boundaries. Everything seems simple, soft, and still. The grass whispers beneath your feet, the light glides over the hills, and every step feels like you’re just going somewhere—like you’re free, like you don’t have to choose. But what if that lawn is a maze? Not the kind of maze of hedges and dead ends, but an invisible structure. No barriers of stone or shrub, but a landscape that forms as you move. No choices between left and right, but a subtle shift, a direction that makes itself felt in your pace, in the tilt of your gaze, in the slight slope of the hill. Every path you take is not there before you take it, but appears because you take it.