Post by Leo Phoenix on Jan 2, 2011 11:16:13 GMT -7
Leo stepped down into the deepest part of the school, lower even than where the werewolves spent the full moon - only by twelve steps of course, but still.
The ceiling was cracked and the drops of water that fell gathered in pools on the mossy, slick floor. The plunking noise each made as it connected with the ageless stone echoed loudly through the void maze of halls. Leo had heard the place flooded in the spring, and with the first breath she took she knew the story was true.
The air was thick was decay, salty humidity and hundred year old rust. She lifted her right hand and summoned Light to enable her to see more than black smudges. A pulsating yellow sphere hovered above her palm, growing to the size of a baseball. Leo tossed it behind her shoulder, where it hung, suspended in mid arm, humming quietly. Creating another, she whipped it down to the end of the hall; a third she threw about mid way.
Like magic, the hall in which she stood was dimly lit, and leo couldn't truthfully say she needed more light than that.
Dim light created an eerie, flickering torch effect; the dried and fading blood on the stone above each of the cell gates - which only reached Leo's hip - was the remnants of long dead suffering.
Stranger still, was Leo's sense of belonging, deep underground where no one could hear you scream from above. It was the perfect setting for a horror novelist to lace her skin with ink ideas.
The ceiling was cracked and the drops of water that fell gathered in pools on the mossy, slick floor. The plunking noise each made as it connected with the ageless stone echoed loudly through the void maze of halls. Leo had heard the place flooded in the spring, and with the first breath she took she knew the story was true.
The air was thick was decay, salty humidity and hundred year old rust. She lifted her right hand and summoned Light to enable her to see more than black smudges. A pulsating yellow sphere hovered above her palm, growing to the size of a baseball. Leo tossed it behind her shoulder, where it hung, suspended in mid arm, humming quietly. Creating another, she whipped it down to the end of the hall; a third she threw about mid way.
Like magic, the hall in which she stood was dimly lit, and leo couldn't truthfully say she needed more light than that.
Dim light created an eerie, flickering torch effect; the dried and fading blood on the stone above each of the cell gates - which only reached Leo's hip - was the remnants of long dead suffering.
Stranger still, was Leo's sense of belonging, deep underground where no one could hear you scream from above. It was the perfect setting for a horror novelist to lace her skin with ink ideas.
