But the walls stay, the roof remains strong and immovable, and we can only pray that if these rooms have memories, they are not ours.
I ought to marvel more at the rich lavishness of the Ieshan estate, but wherever my eyes glance Adonai's words echo. You see that tower? They say that a cursed prince lives in it. Do you believe that? That is what the firstborn son had said against a backdrop of blue bush daisy and sprawling, high-boughed trees. I might answer differently now, having seen the tower, wrought with an opulent eye. Everything is luxurious; splendid; full to tasteful bursting. Around me swirls the organized chaos of the festivities: visitors and servants, art and drink. The colors accent one another; a tapestry is woven not only of thread, but gleaming metallic string. Everywhere I look is glittering crystal and ornate details.
Yet the simple fact remains that a prison, regardless of how grand, remains a prison to those enraptured there. The ostentatious nature of the estate is one I cannot grow accustomed to; beneath the roof of this single household rests more wealth than I had witnessed in the whole of Oresziah. The only building we had that might rival the lavish corridors and high-ceiling rooms of the Ieshan's estate was, perhaps, our church; and that only compared due to the artisans who slaved for years upon the stained glass windows at each wall. Even that, however, was a building erected with island stones and timber, and had no room for gold or anything aside from flickering lamplight and hardwood pews.
I should not remain so transfixed, I know; I had been there long enough the evening is beginning to die down and smolder. There are fewer guests, and less activity to hide my presence behind. I begin to wander deeper into the estate, in the tower of imprisoned princes. The light is dimmer the deeper I go; and the aura of wealth only extends. I wonder what secrets lay behind the Ieshan doors; on one hand, I would like to know. And on the other, I have an itching feeling the truth is not so far beneath the surface. Eventually, I find myself on a balcony overlooking the distant sea. Heavy foliage in stucco pots adorns the marble railing; some of the planted trees bear luscious, blushing fruit. The air smells sweet, and dry, and despite the cold of winter it feels as if I am in a dream.
I know, however, that my journey through the house did not go unnoticed. I am not alone and ask, into the dark, "May I help you?"
Yet the simple fact remains that a prison, regardless of how grand, remains a prison to those enraptured there. The ostentatious nature of the estate is one I cannot grow accustomed to; beneath the roof of this single household rests more wealth than I had witnessed in the whole of Oresziah. The only building we had that might rival the lavish corridors and high-ceiling rooms of the Ieshan's estate was, perhaps, our church; and that only compared due to the artisans who slaved for years upon the stained glass windows at each wall. Even that, however, was a building erected with island stones and timber, and had no room for gold or anything aside from flickering lamplight and hardwood pews.
I should not remain so transfixed, I know; I had been there long enough the evening is beginning to die down and smolder. There are fewer guests, and less activity to hide my presence behind. I begin to wander deeper into the estate, in the tower of imprisoned princes. The light is dimmer the deeper I go; and the aura of wealth only extends. I wonder what secrets lay behind the Ieshan doors; on one hand, I would like to know. And on the other, I have an itching feeling the truth is not so far beneath the surface. Eventually, I find myself on a balcony overlooking the distant sea. Heavy foliage in stucco pots adorns the marble railing; some of the planted trees bear luscious, blushing fruit. The air smells sweet, and dry, and despite the cold of winter it feels as if I am in a dream.
I know, however, that my journey through the house did not go unnoticed. I am not alone and ask, into the dark, "May I help you?"
