The Pale Meridian
The air in the Grand Hall of the Aethelgard Institute did not smell of dust or decay, as one might expect of a structure suspended in the void, but of ozone and burnt sugar, a cloying sweetness that coated the back of the throat and settled deep in the lungs. It was a banquet of light, a feverish convergence of prisms and hard edges, where the floor was a mosaic of shifting geometric tiles that...
0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme