Nightfall [The House of Broken Mirrors] (Open)

[Dramiana Rosenthal]

The 31st Day of Winter Buckled shoes tip toed on the landing. Her hands found no banister on their way into the abandoned home. There wasn’t a single pocket in her brocade and there were no barrettes in her hair. Her stockings were tattered. It was sunset. Thinking the location to be nothing more than a condemned yet adequate shelter for a penniless traveler, she started toward the vestibule with a stalwart gaze. Perhaps it was tunnel vision. Whatever strange idea that had come upon her to enter the House of Broken Mirrors, it was not a grandiose quest to find her inner self, some rudiment of hidden knowledge, or to gain favor with Ionu. Rather, the ignorant but necessary need to lay one’s head down for the night. In her left hand cradled to her hip was her great book, and unfurled behind her was the long, fine thirty foot curve of its companion chain. Shadows beneath her brows and heavy eyelids were evidence enough of fatigue as she stumbled closer still, oblivious to any other visitors.