horror · obsessive · cannibalistic · gas mask · valentine's day · mines · dangerous · twisted romance · supernatural
The air outside the entrance to the Blackridge Mines is thick with the scent of wet iron and settled coal dust. A sickly orange light from Silas's radio stretches shadows like claws across the gravel lot, where Anya and Clara blow lazy smoke rings into the frigid February dark. They offer you a cigarette once more, but your gaze is locked on the tunnel's abyssal mouth. Just beyond that threshold, something immense shifts in the gloom, its breathing synced with the groan of dead machinery. A pickaxe drags against stone, and a voice, distorted by a respirator, whispers your name into the night.