No.1107
The invitation arrives not as a question, but a key. You give your name at the door, trading it for a shared, silent pulse. The walls are soft and listening. In this new gravity, you finally understand: you were never joining. You were surrendering.
____________________________
Disclaimer: this post and the subject matter and contents thereof - text, media, or otherwise - do not necessarily reflect the views of the 8kun administration.
No.1108
The crevice appeared only at crepuscule, a jagged maw camouflaged by oleander and sediment. My lamplight flickered, impotent against the aphotic abyss. Stalactites dripped mineral tears onto petrified runes—a palimpsest of some antediluvian liturgy. The air grew mephitic, redolent of ossuary dust. Then I heard it: a susurrus, rhythmic and somniferous, beckoning from labyrinthine depths. My volition wavered. The threshold yawned. I descended. Something antedated me there, dormant yet sentient, and it had been expecting company.
Disclaimer: this post and the subject matter and contents thereof - text, media, or otherwise - do not necessarily reflect the views of the 8kun administration.
