The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

by Carissa Broadbent

And as it was now, so breathtakingly horrifying and breathtakingly beautiful. It had crumbled so much in the time since he had last been here. The mirrored floor was shattered with spiderweb cracks. The rafters had been broken, the bones now reaching up and ending in jagged blades. The glyphs that had etched the ancient power into these walls were faded, worn away as if by a sandstorm. And yet—now, they glowed. All of them, even the ones that no longer were visible beneath centuries of neglect. They beamed with searing light. It was not flame, he realized. It resembled it. But it wasn’t hot. It was cool and comforting, and strangely familiar, like a tune that lingered just beyond reach. It was closer to smoke than fire, or shadow summoned by the reinvigoration of the spells in the walls. Darkness met the light in equal measure, intertwining as it rose from the floors, the rafters, the walls, in a sad, graceful dance. Clusters of light and shadow moved about the room, almost taking on the appearance of silhouettes—faces visible within them for seconds at a time.