The bottom bucketed with a metrical shiver, each earthquake deep enough to rattle their bones as though commodity beneath the old structure had awakened from a centuries-long slumber. Dust sifted down from the ceiling in soft argentine wastes, drifting through the fluttering dim light like falling ash. Maya artificially stepped back, nearly tripping over the open tablet lying on the depraved bottom. The signed eye on the runner blinked sluggishly, grotesquely — its lustrous face splashing like a living organ floundering to acclimate to the light. She screamed and stumbled down from it, her hands flying to her mouth as her breath 

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