The ceiling above him looked ready to collapse, but at least they had one right?
Aether stared at it in silence, eyes fixed on the dark wooden beams crossing one another overhead. Parts of the roof were missing entirely, letting thin lines of pale light slip through the cracks; it got into his eyes, the light. Why was the sun so mean?
Dust floated slowly within them, drifting through the cold air like dying snow. Every now and then, the wind pushed against the hut hard enough to make the entire structure creak. Ashe flew around the room, reminding them of what was lost, of what used to be, but it wasn't like you could stay in such a room and forget.
It sounded tired.
The room smelled of ash, damp wood, old blood, and herbs crushed into rough cloth bandages, a pretty specific selection of smells that told a pretty obvious story to those who read it.
