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... thing.
Not in an organic way — but with that muffled air oscillation that slowly shifts between one living wall and another.
Moisture dripped like sweat from the pores of the stone, and the stench had moved past nausea into something more like presence — as if the very stink was an entity watching us crawl through its guts.
The sparks between my fingers cast crooked shadows dancing on the tunnel walls, stretching imaginary rats around every bend. But they weren’t imaginar ...
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