The throne room is quiet.
How long has it been since someone last walked these halls, since light and noise had the chance to permeate this forsaken place? Too long. Dust lies thick on the floor, the once gleaming marble now aged and stained, worn a muted grey. Chandeliers that once gleamed now tarnish, darkening a little more with every passing year, and even the throne, gleaming, golden thing that it was, doesn't shine as much as it used to. How much longer before it begins to rust? Until it begins to crack beneath its own weight, centuries of neglect wearing away at it until all that remains is so much forgotten scrap?
The air is stagnant now, unmoving, and if he had ever needed to breathe he would have long choked, mortal lungs giving up against the stench of the kingdom's decay. The darkness is absolute, the silence impregnable. If it were not for the clink of his own gauntlets as he clasped his sword, he might begin to think that he doesn't exist at all. He turns his sword in his hand, settling both hands on the top of the hilt, and stills, the throne room growing quiet once more.
Igris waits.
How long has it been since someone last walked these halls, since light and noise had the chance to permeate this forsaken place? Too long. Dust lies thick on the floor, the once gleaming marble now aged and stained, worn a muted grey. Chandeliers that once gleamed now tarnish, darkening a little more with every passing year, and even the throne, gleaming, golden thing that it was, doesn't shine as much as it used to. How much longer before it begins to rust? Until it begins to crack beneath its own weight, centuries of neglect wearing away at it until all that remains is so much forgotten scrap?
The air is stagnant now, unmoving, and if he had ever needed to breathe he would have long choked, mortal lungs giving up against the stench of the kingdom's decay. The darkness is absolute, the silence impregnable. If it were not for the clink of his own gauntlets as he clasped his sword, he might begin to think that he doesn't exist at all. He turns his sword in his hand, settling both hands on the top of the hilt, and stills, the throne room growing quiet once more.
Igris waits.
هنوز با اختلاف بهترین ادیتی که تاحالا از این سریال دیدم. و نه شبنم و سانشاین نباید ببیننش.
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