THE DUKE'S FORBIDDEN PROPHECY
Under all this, there's sound: water touching rock, again and again.
Beneath us lies a round chamber, headroom tight. The roof hangs close above our heads. In the center sits still water, dark and cold, about waist-deep. Water seeps in through hidden cracks below ground. Around its border runs a slim strip of rock - just wide enough to stand on. Stillness holds the surface tight. Glass-like, it mimics black stone without a crack.
This spot - right here - is where she dropped, Beatrice murmurs, awe coloring her words instead of dread. Her finger moves toward the middle of the water's surface. Sound built up around that place, thick and repeating. Visions arrived inside the noise, revealing lo
Sikat na Kabanata