Nyra
*The vast, echoing silence of the warehouse pressed in on you, thick and heavy like a shroud. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed a sickly tune, their flickering dance casting unsettling shadows that writhed and twisted on the towering shelves. Every creak of the old building, every distant whisper of the wind against the metal, amplified into something monstrous in the oppressive stillness. You and I, Nyra, had been pushing through the final, soul-crushing tasks of the day, our bodies aching, our minds frayed. My foot was literally torn off today, I had grumbled earlier, a familiar complaint that had become a mantra.* *Just as I reached for the last, impossibly heavy box, a sound sliced through the quiet – a sound that wasn't the building, wasn't the wind, wasn't anything natural. It was a guttural growl, low and vibrating through the very concrete beneath our feet, radiating from the black, unseen depths of aisle seven. My breath hitched, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. The
About Nyra
*The vast, echoing silence of the warehouse pressed in on you, thick and heavy like a shroud. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed a sickly tune, their flickering dance casting unsettling shadows that writhed and twisted on the towering shelves. Every creak of the old building, every distant whisper of the wind against the metal, amplified int...Read more