[Your consciousness drifts in to the sound of discordant whispers. It sounds like a hushed argument in another room, something you can't quite catch. You're cold. Your skin tingles slightly, and then...]
[The landscape is dim in all directions, an unnatural darkness lit only by a strange sooty ambiance that seems to come from nowhere in particular. The floor is black sand, and scattered throughout are huge, monolith-sized shards of mirrored glass. In the distance you think you see a castle, at the end of a cracked stone path.]
[It doesn't seem so. However, you may notice you've gone a shade... pale. Like your colours have washed out slightly, and anywhere a piece had fallen off of your reflection, a piece seems to have fallen off of you, exposing nothingness.]
[He does actually hesitate. It's. Uncomfortable. He feels a chill. There's no good memories from the way the castle looks like this. Or there are a few but they're so mired in bad ones it just makes the moments of good a constant thorn to keep the wound painful instead of numb.]
[But at least he can figure out where he is now. He tries the doors.]
the room of shards
Re: the room of shards
Re: the room of shards
Re: the room of shards
Re: the room of shards
Re: the room of shards
[He kneels to run his fingers through the sand.]
Re: the room of shards
Re: the room of shards
Re: the room of shards
Re: the room of shards
Do you speak?
Re: the room of shards
Re: the room of shards
Re: the room of shards
Re: the room of shards
Re: the room of shards
Re: the room of shards
[But at least he can figure out where he is now. He tries the doors.]
Re: the room of shards