I've just written a paragraph I'm really happy with, so since it's quite a few chapters away from what I've published of We All Have Rotten Cores, I thought I'd put it here for you to read. Please recommend any changes I can make!
The hollow air grew stale, set in stone, yet flowing around Ernsta as the castle formed itself stone by stone among the fog, weaving hollow echoes between each new scratch forming as a sword was dropped in some distant time in some distant battle as a soldier perished – but none of it happened; the stairs were hollow of footprints, untouched and deterring people from ever climbing them, ever giving them purpose. They were smoothed down, however, as if by weathering that had never happened, and steps that had never been made, armour never set down and weapons never bloodied. The fog still seemed to gather each stone around her, forming new stairs, smoothed by rain that had never fallen, yet was falling now, despite the fact it never would. The only thing Ernsta could see were the stairs, the fog obscuring everything else that could be there. There was a hollow feeling that accompanied it, however, a light feeling, yet a dreary, woebegone cry of falling angels echoing with remorse and apologies never said. As if someone were perpetually falling from the stairs, conscious yet inert, limp, paralysed to even cry – yet the wails of falling angels continued to echo, unsaid, unheard. Some part of her wanted to stay there and listen, but she wandered through the empty, towering fortress, oppressive walls seeming to stare down with disdain, mocking her every step toward the staircase encircling the outer wall of an infinitely large room. Like a moth she turned away, avoiding it, never quite getting close to the obscured light but fleeing toward it. As if it were some exit. As if there were an exit in the infinitely large yet claustrophobic tower of fog and unanswered questions, unsaid and unasked and unheard.