They thought they’d made the right choice in sheltering in the arched doorway of St. Lestill’s church. But as the spire rotated into a clock tower, the stained-glass windows folded in on themselves, and huge gothic turrets grew out of each corner of the cold stone structure, they realised the error they’d made. The rain still lashed down, and flash lightning lit up the turbulent skies, revealing giant pterodactyls circling high above.
Just as they were about to run out, intent on finding shelter elsewhere, a heavy iron portcullis fell from above, stopping them in their tracks.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, a groaning from the dark depths of the open building behind them started growing louder.
The artist quickly turned the page, and sketched a set of stone steps, disappearing down into a blackened abyss.
They found themselves at the top of the steps, the groans now louder close to where they stood, and they could feel a hot breath on the back of their necks.
They decided to run down the steps, looking for shelter down there…
The Mansionic Perspective 
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