The Eye of the World
The Eye of the World – The royal residence actually shook infrequently as the earth thundered in memory, moaned as though it would deny what had occurred. Bars of daylight cast through rents in the dividers made bits of residue sparkle where they yet lingered palpably. Burn marks defaced the dividers, the floors, the roofs. Expansive dark smears crossed the rankled paints and overlaid of once-splendid paintings, sediment overlaying disintegrating friezes of men and creatures which appeared to have endeavored to stroll before the frenzy developed calm. The dead lay all over, people and youngsters, struck down in endeavored trip by the lightning that had streaked down each passageway, or seized by the flames that had followed them, or indented into stone of the castle, the stones that had streamed and looked for, practically alive before quietness came back once more. In odd contradiction, vivid embroidered works of art and artworks, magnum opuses all, balanced undisturbed aside from where swelling dividers had pushed them amiss. Finely cut decorations, trimmed with ivory and gold, stood immaculate aside from where undulating floors had brought down them. The brain winding had struck at the center, disregarding fringe things.