Varek:
The war room looked like hell had chewed it up and spat it back out.
She’d tried to fix it with a spell—gods, even dying, even when she didn't know she was dying, she tried to leave something whole and beautiful—and the result was this: walls that pulsed like wounded things, a chandelier above dripping pink light like blood diluted with rosewater, and a table that looked like it had been resurrected against its will.
The legs jutted at odd angles, twitching occasionally like they might decide to walk off.
I hated it. Hated how her magic lingered in every twisted piece of this room. Hated that it was the only part of her we had left.
I slammed my fist down on the table.
It groaned and splintered. A leg snapped, pitched sideways, sending war maps and territory scrolls tumbling
