I’m archiving some of my entries from a now defunct collaborative writing project, the entirety of which can be found here: http://collectiveinventioncontention.blogspot.com/

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Bondmistress Oubliette herself had come to find him. The sputtering bulb in the elevator shone through the wide moth eaten brim of her hat, dappling her pale face with sodium-colored light. Of all the caretakers, Bastian considered Oubliette’s face the most well maintained.

Her arm unfolded like a graceful black umbrella, gesturing for him to join her. Wanting to give no cause for suspicion, he immediately stepped into the cab, a space immediately cramped by the bustle of her dress.

Oubliette turned her gaze down upon him, smooth white eyes set in a smooth white face interrupted only by a thin crevice. He heard her scratch and click just under its surface, but the hinges did not move. For a moment Bastian felt the words rise from their hidden place, burning up through his forehead where she could surely read them.

He gulped relief as she looked away, but held his breath as her eyes fell now on the sheet hung on the opposite wall. “See nothing,” he thought at her, as though it might help. “They’re just scribbles.” The Bondmistress did not move. “Her face will open now,” Bastian thought, certain that the scratching in her head had grown agitated.

But then the doors closed and Oubliette’s arms moved absently about, sending the elevator back up.

Pull, spin, step.