CynthiaDarkness. Barred windows and blood. Particles of dust languidly swimming in the pallid, grey twilight as it comes in columns through the windows of a long corridor. And the spiders. Women with long robes and habits betraying their role and the long, dripping black hair hanging beneath them. Faces obscured by masks and pupil-less eyes and still no faces when the masks are removed. And the little girls in white nightgowns, trapped in white prisons with only a small window in the door for the faceless to look in on them and the small slot through which meals are passed and a bed. And Cynthia.Cynthia by ~Led-Feather
Cynthia was special. Cynthia could see through their masks and their eyes. Cynthia could see the spiders. Hiding in the corners. Under her bed. Crawling up their legs when they entered her room to perform their ministrations. They could not see them, none of them could. They were Cynthia's spiders, her army. Tiny black soldiers that would creep out from the shadows, from every crack in the
Grey and Gimble in the WabeThe ground was soft beneath his feet. It squelched and popped beneath the pressure of his determined stride, and sometimes crunched on a creature that hadn't been able to get out of his way quickly enough. Hadn't been able to, or hadn't wanted toit was hard to tell, in a place like this. Barren, and yet alive in its own way. Wet, always wet, but with a sickly damp that worked its way into his clothes and his hair and his lungs. Flat and endless like an empty chessboard. In the distance stood figures that looked somewhat like trees, except they were too round, too perfect, like the tops of some ghastly fungus. If the man ever paused long enough to stare at them, they might move, just a bit. But it was hard to tell. And the man never did stop long enough.Grey and Gimble in the Wabe by ~scarletbird
"Why are you following me?"
This may seem to be a strange question for the man to ask in such a deserted milieu, but there was in fact something with him. It had no shape, or perhaps its shape was simply unimportant. Sometimes it