Deeper and deeper you push yourself into the shimmering abyss, the colors around you dimming into darker hues as you descend. The rubbery film clings to your scales, rippling with each motion, as though reluctant to let you pass.
But then, you feel it—a hard edge, cold and metallic beneath your claws. Some kind of latch. Your long clawed fingers curl around it instinctively, the texture alien after the liquid resistance of the latex. You tug once, but it resists. Gritting your fangs, you plant your feet for leverage and pull harder.
A sudden, unmuted click! echoes through the pool, sharp and definitive. For a moment, nothing happens. Then—the latex begins to churn violently around you, the multicolored ripples twisting into a chaotic dance. The surface trembles, and you feel a strange suction pulling at your body, barely managing to keep your head above the swirling mess of color.
You hiss, glancing down as the liquid begins to spiral toward the bottom of the pool, vanishing through an opening grate that you hadn’t noticed before. The churning grows more frantic, the prismatic substance rushing past you in waves. In moments, the once-full pool is empty, leaving only the faint sheen of residue clinging to the walls.
As now, at the very center of the now-drained pool lies a door, its surface sleek and metallic, illuminated faintly by the dim overhead lights. Intricate engravings line its edges, their patterns almost serpentine, winding and curling like the coils of a snake. It’s a stark contrast to the pristine decor of the mansion above—a door that clearly wasn’t meant to be found.
You flick your tongue, tasting the air, as you step closer. The chill of the drained pool sends a shiver through you, the stretching mass of latex now reduced to a faint, slippery residue beneath your feet – every step eliciting faint sllrps and sqrks, rising thoughts pushed aside by your intrigue, as you trace a claw along the engravings.
Taking a breath, you brace yourself, your tail curling slightly behind you in anticipation—and reach for the handle, the faint hum of the drained latex still echoing in your ears.
The door feels impossibly heavy as you tug, but it gives way, creaking open to reveal a dark staircase spiraling downward into the unknown. The air that escapes is cold, damp, and carries a metallic tang, a stark contrast to the warm, decadent atmosphere above… yet, the scent is not unfamiliar–it reminds you of the room of your rebirth.
Your claws flex against the frame as you take one last glance behind you--then, with steady steps, you begin your descent, leaving behind the gaudy mansion and its secrets in search of the truth, buried far below.