A thousand years of footfall and cart wheels had worn grooves into the slabs of the alley. Cool arches, crafted by stonemasons gone half a millennium, shaded Rick from the Mediterranean sun. History lay heavy as a lover on this place.
And yet time had gnawed it hollow. Beneath his feet, metal lids covered the entrances to tunnels. Trunks of piping and gossamer threads of cabling slowly strangled the ancient street. Rick hacked through the undergrowth. He knew at its heart would be a secret, sleeping in a glass case. A kiss would awaken an old and terrible beauty.
Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise on character and action