The Institute (53)
A low, beguiling hum echoed softly in the air, the ubiquitous darkness slowly swallowing every speck of light, plunging the quiet building in a heavy, malleable gloom. The scent of roses followed its traces, softly seeping into every crack and crevice until even the air seemed to take on a sickeningly, sweet taste, clinging to their throats like a honeyed paste.
A hum slowly echoed from the depths of the Institute, the singing voice comparable to that of first-rate tenors echoed out from the thickening fog, each pronunciation so clear, so elegant and so impeccable. But it was also full of unspeakable evil and ostentatiousness as if a poisonous snake was flicking out its tongue and showing off its fangs. The voice was saturated with both temptation and terror.
The words could not be made out or understood but it was almost as if what he was singing was the most ancient and revered song that boomed and resounded in the battlefields of the gods.