Nikaloas watched patiently from the balcony of his manor. He leaned against the gold and silver *balustrade, and admired the fading city lights as a new orange hue rose into the violet skies.
Standing 25 stories high above the ground felt very different. It wasn't the calmness in the air or the feeling of peace. It was more like a change of perspective and perception of other people.
It's not that his ego grew with the height, it was more like reality had grown small.
What was the point of a thousand years of blindness only to see a few seconds of a view from the "top"? Eventually everything which once seemed important only grows more insignificant and minute with time.
The giant crystalline doors behind Nikaloas opened with very little sound.
The "click-clacking" of high heels co
