The hall stretched endlessly beneath a ceiling carved with gold-veined stone and suspended lanterns that burned without flame.
Black marble reflected everything beneath Galathea's feet in softened distortions. Towering sculpted columns lined both sides of the hall, each one wrapped in flowering silver vines that seemed frozen in permanent bloom. Velvet banners hung motionless overhead despite the faint movement of warm air drifting through the chamber.
Somewhere farther ahead, music echoed softly.
Not orchestral.
Human.
Voices humming low enough to feel more like memory than sound.
Galathea walked slowly through the center of the hall, the fabric of her dark gown brushing quietly against polished stone.
Then she stopped.
Her arms didn't hurt.
The realization arrived so suddenly it almost frightened her.
