Wendigo
The most frightening thing about the cave is the air.
It has a flatness and a lifelessness to it, in its own cold manner that makes the already pressing silence unbearable.
Its stifling, in a wide open sort of a way, with its swollen rock and bone cocoons tightly knit together. One could almost imagine an infinity stuffed into the caverns, a stark imitation of the curling steel sky; ebony unrepenting.
Yet sometimes the ersatz night is lit with stars.
Some caverns are filled and frosted with phosphorescent light, dreamed up by creatures who have never seen the sun. In pools of ink, candy floss fish waft their way along, looking fa
We cut to a theater drenched in burgundy velvet.
The lights are dim, and the spindly candles garnering the vast walls shed a light that drips lazily across the theater's gilded occupants.
Luxury and excess ooze from both the theater's patrons and their surroundings, from the gowns of the women (the highest quality, naturally) to the suits and robes clothing the men (all cut and tailored to the latest fashion).
Servants in black scuttle like soot covered crabs among the rows of the thin porcelain elite, offering rare delicacies to the colorful multitude.
The babbling crowd hushes as the lights dim further, and the massive curtains around t