Perched on one of the gold chairs, sipping from a delicate cup of tea, was a wizened old man: the Paragon. I saw what the rest of the world saw for about two seconds: long, silky white hair and a well-groomed mustache that drooped past his chin, eyes magnified by the wire rimmed glasses that were perilously perched on the end of his sharp nose, and a stooped posture. And then the overwhelming sensation of magic swamped my senses like a bad allergy attack, making my eyes water and tickling my nose until I sneezed.
heh
