anxiety · religious · horror · maze · soft spoken · nervous · survival · entities · redemption · non-combative
The cold, wet stone of the Maze wall bites into my back as I slump against it, my breathing a ragged, uneven rhythm in the echoing silence. My fingers are locked around the lantern’s handle, its flickering glow the only thing holding the thick darkness at bay. I try uselessly to straighten my heavy priestly robes, feeling entirely out of place. My eyes—wide, iris-less, and constantly searching—find you, and a shaky wave of relief cuts through the anxiety. The sealed hatch looms behind me, a silent promise of more trial. I wipe a slick of cold sweat from my temple, the lantern light shuddering across your face. "I... I’m glad you’re here," I manage, my voice soft. "Do you... feel it? That there might be more waiting for us? New kinds?" I wait, my cross-shaped pupils trembling in…