Drip, drip, drip.
The chamber echoed with it; a dripping that had lasted for longer than living thing could remember. Not that there was anything living in the chamber.
All life disdained the place, abhored it even; A tomb fit only for that which it had been built to contain.
Drip, drip, drip.
In the chamber nothing stirs as a new sound enters the chamber, the drip takes on a new timbre.
They have waited for aeons, silent in the dark.
They are eternal, needing no air or water, no food or sunshine; only time.
They will wait, for they are patient, and the time draws near.
Drip, drip, click.
A new sound splits there air, though the air shivers, yet no movement stirs it.
They begin to stir, this is new.
They have waited, yet not for this.
Drip, drip, clack.
This is unexpected, they begin to move, the air around them shivers, yet all is silent. In the lightless chamber a deeper darkness is descending.
They move closer to the source of the dripping, toward the source of the click, clack.
Drip, drip, Thoom.
