Round 437

The walls' breathing stopped completely—everything except the low pulsing hum growing stronger now like a heartbeat counting down seconds until whatever comes next. The stone itself shifts and moves, tendrils extending out to pull them closer together despite their attempts to resist. Jeane finds herself pressed against Silra, her exposed skin sliding against the other woman's thigh as the walls seem to encourage further contact.

This is exactly what the entity downstairs wants—separate them, break them apart piece by piece until there's nothing left but raw material for its corruption. The walls' intelligence is terrifyingly obvious now, every movement calculated and deliberate. They're not just reacting; they're actively hunting.

Maintaining distance would be tactically sound in any other situation, but the narrow space leaves no room for retreat. Every inch forward means pressing closer to Silra, her skin against Jeane's own. The pulsing hum grows stronger still, filling the air with a sickening rhythm that makes their hearts beat faster in sync.