It had to have been days before he had relocated enough of the bricks to create an opening large enough for himself. No, perhaps longer. He discovered, to his chagrin, that the design was not so flawed after all. He had to be careful which bricks he chiseled out, for not all lead to the pit. The expansion was arduous, but after the first few days, he felt very satisfied to have it. The light did not penetrate into his cell, but he could now look down into a world less bleak. It was a change. It was a hope.

　　It was a secret passage.

　　When he finally opened the hole large enough, it was unmistakable. This was not a coincidence. The stone that led down had definite rungs carved into it, like a ladder which descended into the star-filled blackness. His hope swelled - finally. After so long, he could be free. Someone before him had been here, had made this, and he simply needed to reap the rewards. After, he thought, he could discover who else had been imprisoned here, who had escaped, and visit their grave to pay tribute, to give thanks. But first, he would travel into that glowing cavern.

　　His hands were not adept at climbing. They had become even more abused, sore, and blistered from his new-found digging hobby, and it took only a few steps down the wall before he lost grip and fell. The narrow passage was unforgiving, his slight frame tossed down it like a sack of meat, banging mercilessly against the walls, reminding him of places he had forgotten could hurt. When he hit the hard floor, he was almost grateful - it could have been a longer drop. But his body was less convinced, and it took several minutes before he thought he might be able to move.

　　Fortunately, his kind were notoriously difficult to kill. His bones would not break so easily, even if his flesh was less resilient, tearing under the abuse. The loss of blood was frustrating, but he knew he would not starve, at least. Unless he got lost. No, he wouldn’t think about that. He needed to discover where he was. Sheer will got his eyes open, and further conviction made him sit up. Then, all at once, his hope was shattered.

　　The scene revealed to him was haunting. It was not an escape, at all, but simply a more morbid cage - a tomb. This sort of thing was not uncommon for his people, burying their dead deep in the ground. A single sarcophagi rested in the center of a large dome carved from the stone. The soft glow of algae, or perhaps worms, or some other fluorescent organism was giving off the subtle light. The sound of water running, a quiet trickle, was not far off. Oddly, he noted, the chamber was barren of the usual offerings paid to the dead. It did not have vases full of finery, nor the trophies that the honored spirit may have won in life. The homage of the passing of the immortal race was usually grand. A shiver ran down his spine - this must have been the resting place of a great sinner.

　　That made the most sense. Buried below the dungeon of the palace, held close yet as far away as possible. Honored or shamed. The state of the grave told him the latter. Sluggishly, he willed himself to move, and so he did. The dim light let him see himself for the first time in so long. His clothes were rags, held together in the most miserable of states, torn and filthy. His skin was so white, it could be translucent in a brighter light, and covered in scrapes and bruises that were utterly unbecoming. The amount of filth that clung to him was repulsive. But then... There was water here.

　　His eyes scanned the area, and found the source. A small stream trickled down the wall to the far side of the chamber, and as he approached, he was practically overjoyed to see that it pooled into a small, but usable spring before continuing on its trail. However sore his body was, it would not hinder him from this. His shirt was the first to be removed, so quickly that he felt a little light headed. His fingers went to his trousers, and clumsily worked on their buttons.

　　“What... A lovely smell...”

　　He froze. The sound was soft, but it penetrated his ears as sharply as an arrow would his flesh. Panic seized him, sudden and irrational and overwhelming. He spun around too quickly for his injured body, tripping himself up and falling - but not before his eyes widened with the sight they saw. A body from the stone coffin, rising up. It wasn’t bones, decayed and falling apart. Whole. Living. Too thin, perhaps, with hair too long, left untrimmed. But it moved, slowly at first - then it was gone.

　　The flicker of a thought that contained the futile hope that it was a mirage was shattered as he felt arms, crushingly strong, catch him from falling into the spring. It knocked the breath out of him, and he was almost certain he felt the crack of his bones - as unlikely as that may be. Then something hot, on his skin, frying and wet and burning - then a sharp pain. It was too much, too quickly. Blackness came.