Shadowgate

Stepping towards the lone tome jutting from the wall, you are unable to read the scripture. The dust plagues the book, blanketing it with at least an inch thick of filth, pedestal and all. Reaching out cautiously towards the manuscript, your fingers glaze the encrusted mold.

Your blood rushes to your head as you inhale to scream. The floor drops out from beneath you, shattering into a variety of fragments. Warm, stale wind fills your lungs as the torch blows out in your flailing hand. You struggle to exhale for a desperate cry, eyes watering in the hot cascading darkness.