08-04-2024, 02:18 PM
Jensen still didn’t understand his presence at such a party, and nobody particularly engaged with him after Kristian, Noémi, and Raffe. so it was with a measure of loneliness that he went on a search for a library. The ballroom, bar, and grand staircase were most populated with guests, and after making his way through them, he found only room after room of extravagant displays. Artwork, tapestries, furnishings, sculptures, gilding and marble — they were beautiful, but he could discern no observable function. One room was decorated entirely in pink while another was green florals, yet both were indistinguishable. Finally, he found a room with a grand piano in a corner, but it was the only sign that the space may serve as a conservatory.
Finally, with hands in his pockets, he determined that there was no discernible library in the estate, which was probably for the best as he assumed few books in such a collection would be in English. At least the search gave him a purpose, he surmised, and switched to studying the intricate details of a mural.
Sprawled across the ceiling, it was certainly as palatial as all the other murals, but it was this particular scene that captured his attention.
Celestial warriors clad in armor and wielding swords of gleaming gold suggesting the heavenly hosts of Archangels, clashed against dark counterparts, whose twisted faces contorted in defiance. Fallen angels, their still-beautiful faces marred by corruption, their silver armor dented and damaged, fought with savage desperation. Their tattered wings contrasted sharply with the pure, white feathers of their heavenly adversaries.
For some reason, the mural broke his heart yet he could not look away.
Finally, with hands in his pockets, he determined that there was no discernible library in the estate, which was probably for the best as he assumed few books in such a collection would be in English. At least the search gave him a purpose, he surmised, and switched to studying the intricate details of a mural.
Sprawled across the ceiling, it was certainly as palatial as all the other murals, but it was this particular scene that captured his attention.
Celestial warriors clad in armor and wielding swords of gleaming gold suggesting the heavenly hosts of Archangels, clashed against dark counterparts, whose twisted faces contorted in defiance. Fallen angels, their still-beautiful faces marred by corruption, their silver armor dented and damaged, fought with savage desperation. Their tattered wings contrasted sharply with the pure, white feathers of their heavenly adversaries.
For some reason, the mural broke his heart yet he could not look away.