A garden of thorns and roses
This time, Soren does not take me to the worn walls of his study. Nor does he take me to the shallow comfort of his room- comfort being a much needed solace in light of the pressure of a near to-be execution. In fact, he doesn't take me to anywhere familiar whatsoever.
Instead, when the shadowshifting has finished, and I feel positively like I am going to be sick as nausea roles over me in embittered waves of absolute agony, we materialise into a part of Sezeria I have never seen before.
It is a peculiar place, beguiling yet, somehow, lonesome. The air whispers with the voices of souls long since lost through the clearing of feathery grass, and though the sky is bright, the air is cold and grey in parlour, as though someone had taken a brush and washed the world of its vibrant colours and replaced them with a mellow, pastel glow.