(no subject)
OPEN
Waking Silent Hill
The Water Prison
Violence, likely.
All of those unfortunate souls find themselves in a literal prison, an outer reflection of the inner prison that confines them all.
The prison was silent, but for the wind howling against it, pounding at the structure in a battle that it would one day win.
Today, however, was not that day. The stench of mildew hangs thick in the air, thicker than any of the other smells that come to the senses after a careful consideration. Blood, excrement, rotting meat, terror. Each cell had it's own story to tell, its own personal tragedy. Each cell a slice of a personal hell.
The hallways were little better, almost pitch-black but for the small, almost meaningless portholes, letting in shafts of gray light, highlighting large, slimy leeches that had made this hell their home. They stung too, as they dropped and fell, coated in a thin acid. Just enough to burn and sting.
Outside, the wind pulls and pushes every which way, screaming around the building that made itself so resistant to wind. The change in the light is jarring, the sky gray and dull, a hell in its own right. The metal grating, rusty but serviceable, leads both upwards and downwards, metal ladders breaking the otherwise uninterrupted flow of the construction.
Waking Silent Hill
The Water Prison
Violence, likely.
All of those unfortunate souls find themselves in a literal prison, an outer reflection of the inner prison that confines them all.
The prison was silent, but for the wind howling against it, pounding at the structure in a battle that it would one day win.
Today, however, was not that day. The stench of mildew hangs thick in the air, thicker than any of the other smells that come to the senses after a careful consideration. Blood, excrement, rotting meat, terror. Each cell had it's own story to tell, its own personal tragedy. Each cell a slice of a personal hell.
The hallways were little better, almost pitch-black but for the small, almost meaningless portholes, letting in shafts of gray light, highlighting large, slimy leeches that had made this hell their home. They stung too, as they dropped and fell, coated in a thin acid. Just enough to burn and sting.
Outside, the wind pulls and pushes every which way, screaming around the building that made itself so resistant to wind. The change in the light is jarring, the sky gray and dull, a hell in its own right. The metal grating, rusty but serviceable, leads both upwards and downwards, metal ladders breaking the otherwise uninterrupted flow of the construction.