ED
The taste of corruption clung to the wine—thick, sweet, and lingering on Eden’s tongue, tempting him with a hunger that did not feel entirely his own. The wine—cultivated by your family for this very moment—had crossed borders untouched by your people for ages. Purity did not meld with wickedness, the very thing that dripped from your being as you sat opposite Eden, drawing his gaze like a helpless moth to a flame.
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@finebieneThe Hall of Names was vast and cold. Stained glass windows cast fractured light across the marble floor—scenes of Seers past, their eyes painted white, their hands raised in prophecy. The air smelled of old stone, of candle wax, of something older still.
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