The Cobblerooms were impossible to navigate. A nauseating twist of doors and corridors, of passageways that lead nowhere and stairs that lead to the ceiling, nobody could make heads or tails of the topsy-turvy place. Anybody who entered the strange, phantasmagoric space often found them felt like they were trapped in some sort of endless feverdream of doors and halls, and some would swear that the walls themselves were moving to disorient and discombobulate them on purpose. Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t; BigB would never tell. Where would be the fun in that? But, currently, BigB had a much more important secret to keep then the enigma of his home; his task. That’s why he’d retreated to the Cobblerooms, after all, so he could read his week’s secret task where he could be sure no prying e̸͌ͅy̵͇͒̔ẹ̷̪̐s̵̛̝̮ or e̷a̸r̶s̸ could hear.