When the Moon Hangs Low

From the introduction: The Necropolis was worse than I’d imagined. We weren’t very deep, but already I felt crushed, my breath stolen, like I was drowning in the marshes. I wouldn’t complain any more about contracts to kill Bonerot wildlife. After a few corners I’d stopped looking at the architecture. Every join was at a different angle to the last, or that’s what I told myself, to kill the thought that the builders hadn’t been working entirely in the space I thought I understood. The others seemed fine. I think they weren’t paying enough attention.