A heavy fist smashed down on Scirius' desk, rattling drawers and toppling a full inkwell. “EXPLAIN!” Tenaron demanded, a towering behemoth of a man compared to his brother, who sat calmly in his elegant armchair, hands folded.
“Dear brother,” the handsome elf Scirius responded with all the patience of a saint, “what troubles you thus?” He arched an eyebrow as his gaze fell on the puddle of ink soaking into the parchment on his desk.
Gathering his wits, Tenaron suddenly realized the mess he had created, and scrambled to clean it up. “Oh, gods... I'm so sorry Scirius...” he apologized hurriedly,
"End of the line!" they cackle and croak
They traded prize tickets for dagger and cloak
To the House of Mirrors, cornered alone
The invisible clown: unreflected, unknown.
Eaten by darkness, the whispers all fade
Dust slowly settles, sun darkened by shade
Hundreds of mirrors, all portals of shame
With nothing to copy, no face and no name.
Forgotten, to wither, the clown slowly dies
Until She appears, looks him right in the eyes
"You see me?" a whisper escapes from the night
Finger to lips, She dispels all his fright.
"I see you," She promises, taking his hand
Wood becomes stone and glass becomes sand
Dark becomes daylight and din becomes br
Tenaron rounded a corner from the main hall into a vast tower-library, pausing momentarily to gawk at the elaborate architecture. The shelves extended upward at least fifty feet, and there were tall rolling ladders lining the perimeter. At the back of the chamber was a staircase leading up to two separate landings, each with fine arched entryways and filled with luminous treasures and even more books. A stained-glass dome skylight at the apex of the tower painted a spectacular mural of light across the white marble floor, an artistic depiction of Azeroth's solar system and all the known constellations.
"Goddess..." he whispered in awe as he