The shadows seem to press in on him as he moves to the left, cold fog tickling at any exposed flesh. The hallway seems to stretch forever, but as Peter forges forward, the glint becomes just a little brighter. And a little brighter.
A single candle, placed on a small crystal pedestal, burning with a purple fire.
Its light is small, weak, but enough to illuminate the area within several feet. It brings no warmth, only a harsh light that deepens the edges of the shadows it casts, flickering on its wick. The fog swirls at the bounds of its light, seemingly held at bay, and in the darkness just beyond, a hundred glinting eyes seem to blink at Peter.
At the edge of his hearing, he can hear a low growl, deep and rumbling and promising sharp teeth.
no subject
A single candle, placed on a small crystal pedestal, burning with a purple fire.
Its light is small, weak, but enough to illuminate the area within several feet. It brings no warmth, only a harsh light that deepens the edges of the shadows it casts, flickering on its wick. The fog swirls at the bounds of its light, seemingly held at bay, and in the darkness just beyond, a hundred glinting eyes seem to blink at Peter.
At the edge of his hearing, he can hear a low growl, deep and rumbling and promising sharp teeth.