Sun Oxen Year & ¾ , Eighthday
It was when I pressed my hand on the crystal ball that I saw.
It was dark.
The moon cast her luminous strings, twisting the forest and filling the land with shadow and twilight. A night breeze made the trees dance, sending their leaves to the hungry soil.
There was light coming from the top tower of the castle. A dim candle melting by the window, shaped pale outlines in the room, making the old wooden furniture look like oddly dressed tree-men. Inside the colors of gold and black painted curtains and sheets. A great chandelier hanged from the ceiling and claret walls carried portraits of insignificant dead folk. Intoxicating odors of the perfumes of lustful women lingered in the air, permeating decadent aristocracy.