Decussation of the Soul

Old walls, sunk deep into the earth, slick with moisture and trimmed in dripping weblike vines, rose well above toward a sky of flat white. Two halls of this kind met, creating a cross of light overhead. The floor was long lost beneath brackish brown water, ice-tinged upon the edges and hungry to steal whatever warmth a careless wanderer might offer.

There was no way out. No door or stair or crevice by which to climb. The intersection was forgotten, made for a purpose now entirely unknown. Any decoration or expression within the stone had worn away after countless centuries, leaving only faceless walls of silent, endless decay.

What a perfect, heartless, empty prison in which to die.