Musings Macabre

As the final labored breath of a dying day leaves the diseased sky in a sputter of sickening ochre, the fell caress of creeping malice fills the air of a night blacker yet than all those before it. Ever new morbidity, organic and writhing, manifests and is lost in the mounting wave, the now familiar progression that weighs on the soul of the world like a cloak, unshakable and leaden with sentient cruelty. I alone am keenly aware of the suffocating miasma beyond the faint glow of the defensive shield, a device of synthetic origin. Crafted by man, it serves as a barrier against the better part of his assailant's crushing presence. Those in my company are oblivious to the corrosive auras beyond, their sanity protected by the fortifying wards of desperate science.

 

very descriptive