Sienna
At the altar, Raine knelt—and traced the cool engravings of broken dynasties with aging hands.
Fine coats of dust stuck to her fingers, felt smooth to the touch like soft gray fur, and absently, she smiled.
Ruins made beautiful tombs.
She drew small circles, wrote names, counted years, wrote the world as she knew it. The dust was endless, and the altar cracked and imperfect, but she didn't mind.
Here, lay the crux of history. Here, lie the ages of past. Here, once lied a temple, and a corruption foregone.
Here, her closest companions slept—and here, time passed her by.