About two thirds of the way up on a pink granite tower, there was a single door, made of intricately carved oak. There were no stairs or ladders that led to it, but for the inhabitants of Abura, reaching an entrance a hundred feet in the air presented no difficulty. It was unmarked; it was assumed that anyone interested in it would already know what it was.
Provided one had some means of getting to it, the door swung open easily. Inside was a large room, perhaps forty feet on each side, and with ceilings that were a good twenty-five feet high. A series of glass windows high up on the walls let in a good amount of natural light. The walls and floor were the same pink granite as the outside of the tower, and were highly polished. They were unadorned, and if there had been nothing else in the room, they would have seemed unaccountably severe.
However, there was always something else in the room. It was an art gallery, one of the best known in Abura, and so at any given point, there was a finely-crafted exhibit of paintings, or sculpture, or drawings, or some other fine arts. To have exhibited at the Lemanychol Gallery was considered a feather in the cap of any artist from Abura -- and indeed, any artist from the rest of Mizahar as well.
Lemanychol herself was a middle-aged Akvatari with deep purple wings and soft pink fur that matched her hair. An accomplished painter, she had begun operating the gallery some thirty years earlier, and her attention to detail in the installation process had quickly made her venue a much sought-after one. There was no charge to visit the Gallery, although donations were certainly accepted, and on most days, Lemanychol was there to greet visitors. "Hello and welcome to the gallery. Would you like a tour of the exhibit?"
Provided one had some means of getting to it, the door swung open easily. Inside was a large room, perhaps forty feet on each side, and with ceilings that were a good twenty-five feet high. A series of glass windows high up on the walls let in a good amount of natural light. The walls and floor were the same pink granite as the outside of the tower, and were highly polished. They were unadorned, and if there had been nothing else in the room, they would have seemed unaccountably severe.
However, there was always something else in the room. It was an art gallery, one of the best known in Abura, and so at any given point, there was a finely-crafted exhibit of paintings, or sculpture, or drawings, or some other fine arts. To have exhibited at the Lemanychol Gallery was considered a feather in the cap of any artist from Abura -- and indeed, any artist from the rest of Mizahar as well.
Lemanychol herself was a middle-aged Akvatari with deep purple wings and soft pink fur that matched her hair. An accomplished painter, she had begun operating the gallery some thirty years earlier, and her attention to detail in the installation process had quickly made her venue a much sought-after one. There was no charge to visit the Gallery, although donations were certainly accepted, and on most days, Lemanychol was there to greet visitors. "Hello and welcome to the gallery. Would you like a tour of the exhibit?"
