orgyofanxiety

Captian's log:

Moist, warm, sticky, the air is nearly impenetrable. The smell of decay wafts like morning dew, covering everything. Our air would be compromised if not for re breathing. The light is pale, shallow, misted by putrid gases of decomposition. Nothing before has prepared us for such a sight. Bodies and flesh are strewn about in a tangled web of bones, flesh and skin distended by decay. Was it victory? Madness? The sensations attached to this place whips me into a state of acute arousal followed by a frenzy of apprehension overcoming me in waves, like an orgy of anxiety.

Nothing must stop us from our conquest. Nothing.