I sat beneath the earth, solemn, silent, surrounded by the air trusted by the riveted walls heard by the sinking pools. Black is the liquid I ground from the rock, the rock of ash and bone and flesh, black is the liquid staining the stone, staining the water, I shed my skin
(The illusion is broken)
Here, below, in the Deepground the echos of an unseen ritual trickles across the slick walls. You stand, struck by its strangeness, peering into the gloom, willing the figure to come into focus, their movements to be unwound in a deluge of light.