“Sinim,” I was sitting in the Hall of Ancestors on the tomb of my best non-living friend. The Hall was built like everything else in the Marble Palace. Big. My whisper echoed into the lofty, gem-inlaid vaults over me, the statues of the Imperators, and some of the niches emptied by other Imperators. The sound of my words came back in broken pieces like a rain of glass, glittering and bouncing, completely unintelligible even if a servant should come in to either clean or to get me.
Not that i
Published on March 17, 2009 16:59