The Blue Hall
Footsteps buried by a loud stillness, a walking shadow engulfed by the faintest blue, dilated pupils overcome by the endless shelves of crystal spheres, and through it all a sense of smallness that pervades those cursèd halls. For it is a curse and a horrid one at that; on any one shelf there lies an orb that whispers of toppled reigns, doomed romances, and impending deaths. All that and so much more in one orb, its taunting mist drawing in its victims and releasing them to the cruelest existence: the one that is out of their control.
Control. It is drowned in the silent march when a slow spin reveals the vastness of the chamber. Control. When the cold encroaches and from the depths of despair a hand clutches at its will and hopes that it proves… Control. Illusions created by Death, for he slowly beckons from the room with the Veil. We are but deserted and destitute, our destinies mere playthings in the hands of the Moirai.