{oOo}
"This is your home?" Beryl asked, stunned, disbelieving. The place looked like a mixture of palace, gothic cathedral and museum. It was beautiful. Exquisitely beautiful, with, from what she could see, thousands of pieces of art. The walls themselves were ornately carved, as were the columns, the roof's domes, the minarets. Its towers, spires, rose gracefully. From a distance, the place looked like an exquisite jewel-box.
The entire thing was a gigantic work of art.
And yet as they approached, they saw the signs of dust and fractures in the pillars, the sculptures, the flagstones. As they came in, they saw the pieces of art beginning to shatter. Sculptures of exquisite beauty in thousands of different styles fell to shards, and reformed themselves in different poses or configurations. Fretwork and pierced screens shattered to dust, and pieces, before reshaping themselves to give the visitor more privacy.
Silver fittings, metal doorknobs, engravings, tarnished to almost black or verdigris, before shining again. Frames tarnished, darkened before turning to dust and reforming in an almost pristine state around their paintings.
The paintings themselves dulled and darkened in color their paint cracking and flaking away in places before returning to their previous coloration and brightening once more.
Under their feet, the mosaics and carved floors shattered, and rebuilt themselves. Everything in this place, beautiful as it may have been, was in some state of decay and re-formation.
Almost pristine, Fulgrim's keen eyes saw. This was Ruin's home, it was not in his nature to renew.
The carved screens themselves changed shape. Over and over, nothing remaining longer than it took to appreciate its beauty and mourn for its loss. The halls, high and echoing, intricately carved, were darkened by what looked like smoke. The scent of untouched eons permeated the place. Age beyond age.
The velvets and silks though wondrously soft, were on the verge of being threadbare, though they constantly rewove themselves, threads of varying color filling in new embroidery patterns.
The windows, of stained glass, shifted color and tint even as they watched, in some cases, falling to dust before reshaping into a new pattern, painting the rooms over and over again in lovely, ephemeral splashes of color.
Beryl flinched the first few times as a piece of art shattered or crumbled under her hand, then gave Ruin a sharp look. "This place is in disrepair."
The sight of this place would have made an artist weep. Weep for the beauty that was lost between moments, over and over.
"I am Ruin." he pointed out mildly, having brought out the guest-meal, plates of scones, with jam and tea that looked quite normal. "It is my nature, and this IS the heart of my power. It reflects me, as Elysium reflects Terra. Or perhaps I should call her Gaia now? Make yourselves comfortable." he gestured to the large, soft, thickly padded sofa. "These things are quite safe."
"They're not going to fall apart?" Beryl asked him tentatively, eyeing the comfortable looking couch.
"Oh, not yet. Not for a good long time." Ruin said cheerfully. "I actually bought those for guests. My own are... ah.. fragile, but they carry weight as long as I tell them to."
{oOo}