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It is always cold. No matter how many fires I build, the halls remain frigid. Flame-light licks the walls like phantoms preying in the night—the only show I see down here. The smell and taste of dampness is like poison in the air I breathe—and it never departs. Though the labyrinth twists through the earth, I know the way out. But I cannot leave. I always feel their eyes watching, quizzing and burrowing into my soul.
Sometimes I hear them through the walls, like they slither, their powerful tails raking the dirt as they go—tails which should only serve them in the currents. It is only because of the fires that I can even see the pale ghosts. Fires they don’t want, and which they quickly extinguish when they care less than usual for my comfort. Continue reading “Tranquil – a short story”