The White Ward is empty of the living but full of ghosts.
Silk streamers hang like hair down the walls, dark and abandoned. Dark iron twists through the space, cages and needles and restraints. Blood and rust, agony of the past billows in like the smoke of the crematorium.
Corpses of doctors lay strewn like the surgical implements. Silk stuffed to the brim in living bugs, bursting out of some in a twisted version of a spool. Short pins and scalpels stuck in the tangled mess.
It's been a long, long time since Trinn has returned to the place of its death...and its birth.
Time has not been kind to the place. The Haunting has not been kind. And neither has death.
Good. It would not have any other way for this place to have ended. Slow and painful and inevitable.
Trinn turns to Khnal as the elevator opens.
...When you're ready.
@lost-heirs-of-the-old-pharloom












