And in those notes, I saw it: mirrored floors, curved rafters of bone, crawling ivy dotted with blood-red flowers. My lips curled. “Morthryn,” I whispered. Even though the word that sat on my lips was, home. Here, enveloped in his body and his music, I was there all over again. Not Morthryn as I had known it, but a version that was what it had always been intended to be—a place of solace for the forgotten souls.
