XXXIV

Rosalie

The stairs continued to descend into the darkness with no end in sight. The cold damp walls were lit at irregular intervals with tall metal torches.

It felt like I was descending into hell rather than a historical archive.

Lucille clasped my hand in the darkness. Her clammy palm a testament to the nerves that were coursing through her as we took each step.

“Just breath.” I try to reassure her, as she stumbles, a small whine escaping her lips.

We stopped briefly, allowing her to catch her breath before we continued following the Grand Priestess down, down, further into the worlds core.

Eventually, the torches were punctuated with wooden doors. Some look as though they had seen better days. Some were hanging from their hinges, covered in spider webs and rotten wood having become homes for worms and insects crawling about the spongy fibres. Whilst others look brand new. Carved with ornate designs or gilded in gold.

“What are all of these doors for?” I wondered out loud.

“