Foretelling

Below the streets filled with noise and smell, deep under the tunnels where trains surged through, far below the passages that carried power and water and sewage. Deeper still, where rodents dared to not go unwillingly, grubs and earthworms feared for their lives. Trees refused to let their roots travel so far into the bowels of rich earth, dark with blood of lives stolen away. Where time had no meaning and those that did survive down there cared not for the workings of anything but their own devises.

Dark, damp. Sweet, sweet rot filling nostrils, the scent of roses wafting on the second breath, taken away swiftly on the third. Realizing with the pungent aroma was that of copper. Sharp tang that flavored all their food laid out upon monstrous carved tables, grinding of bone for spice. Never utterly silent, somewhere within the rooms that infested the earth was always a moan or a whimper, a scream of pleasure or a cry for more pain. Just under the humming of the earth itself, rumbling as it moved along through time, a deep base vibrato that could only be felt with fingers pressed deep into her soil.

Scurrying, chattering, bowing, scraping. All this was hers.

Well...