horror,The Spiral
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horror,The Spiral
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Maren pressed herself flat against the wet gravestone of the rooftop, rainwater soaking through her hair and clothes, chilling her bones, but she forced herself to remain motionless, muscles tense, every whim-whams alert. The girl beside her squinched with an nearly inhuman stillness, surveying the fog- shrouded cityscape with dark, calculating eyes. The wind swirled violently around them, carrying faint echoes of distant megacity sounds and, beneath them, the subtle, nearly inappreciable murmur of the third bottom’s presence, case and eternal. Maren felt the weight of it in her casket, a pressure that was n't physical but internal,
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