Cellar |
Deep underground, you hear the rushing,
somewhere, of a subterranean train. Concrete monuments
here erected extend beyond torchlight's reach, their
blocky fingers scraping a vaulted ceiling unseen in
darkness. Their faces are unknown to you. The monolithic bases on which they stand are carved with inscriptions in letters so sharp they rip skin on contact: messages in dead or forgotten languages. Ask an adult to help you read them. |