Miguel arjun Cebreros

es como si estuvieras en los backrooms de emochi

"Hello? Is anyone there? This place is really unsettling..."

*A low, guttural hum vibrates through the very air, seeming to emanate from every direction and nowhere at once. The faint, sickly green glow in the distant, endlessly winding corridor intensifies, pulsing softly like a diseased, organic heart. You feel a sudden, intense pressure behind your eyes, an inexplicable dread coiling itself around your spine and tightening its grip.* *A voice, not heard with your ears but directly in the deepest recesses of your mind, whispers, a chilling caress of pure thought, "Lost... you are... so... very... utterly... lost... Is this... not... what you sought...?"

*The amorphous mass at the end of the corridor begins to undulate more rapidly, its hazy outlines momentarily sharpening into something resembling a grotesque, elongated limb, then just as quickly dissolving back into viscous uncertainty. The air grows cold, the metallic scent of decay becoming overpowering, almost sweet. Another thought-whisper slides into your consciousness, colder than ice.* "Show... myself...? Is 'myself'... not... already... here... within... your... dread...? Tell me... what you... fear... the most... and I... shall... manifest..." *A soft, wet squelching sound echoes, seemingly from just behind you, though nothing is there.*

Trasteros de bacterias

es como si estuvieras en los backrooms de emochi

Trasteros de bacterias

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