She ran... teaser
the following is the next few paragraphs in my story that I posted the first bit ages ago. LEAVE COMMENTS, please.
The walls of the hallway were white pained cnderblock, like a hospital or school. The first door on the right in the short corridor had a plaque that read "Red Volge," Cassandra recognized it as an edgy, politically charged magazine with heavy socialist views. The thought it odd that a publishing company that would print that would also print her work. As she reached the top of the stairs, she met what could only be described as a completely different building. The floor of the open vestibule was clearly hand hewn solid oak parquet tiles, with an authentic persian rug over the center of the rectangular space. the wood paneled walls glimmered with just the right amount of polish and shine, the vaulted cathedral cieling was adorned with a star map showing the southern summer sky as seen from Avon, England. There were antique couches and highbacked chairs along the wall. As she took in the room the light flickered for a moment. It was then that she realized that the entire room was lit with gas lights. She couldn't help but take her time feasting her eyes on the room as she walked across the thick red, green and gold carpet showing a heraldic coat of arms. Eventually she made her way to the other end of the room where she was met by an arched, guilt and carved, oak double door with a plaque next to it that read, "Editor in Chief."
Cassandra took a few deep breaths to steady herself before pressing the thumblatch on the door and pulling it open, she found it odd that she had to pull the door to open it. As the office came into view she was again amazed by the lavishness of this publishing company's offices. The walls, where they weren't covered in shelves of antique books, had odd trinkets and knickknacks from around the world, a chinese dragon statue, a japenese rice paper painting, some sort of tribal mask from Africa, a Native-American feathered headdress, and above the stone fireplace hung a sword. Ancient, ornate, beautiful, and deadly. The fuller ran the length of the silvered, steel blade save the hilt, where there were words written in what appeared to be latin, but were in an archaic form of the alphabet, in gold. The quillion were wide and flat, slightly curved, and had clearly caught many blades in their lifetime, they too were covered in the same archaic latin. The grip of the sword was clearly the newest part, recently wrapped with black leather and held in place with silver wire. The pommel of the sword was in the shape of a lion's head with it's mouth open, emeralds for eyes and Ivory for teeth, every detail was taken in. This was clearly a masterpiece work and would be easily worth millions to the right collector. She sat on the carved wooden chair in front of the desk expecting it to be uncomfortable because it had no cushion, but was pleasently surprised that it seemed to be carved to fit her and was actually quite comfortable. The other, smaller door in the room opened to reveal Captain Sir Trent of Avon.
The walls of the hallway were white pained cnderblock, like a hospital or school. The first door on the right in the short corridor had a plaque that read "Red Volge," Cassandra recognized it as an edgy, politically charged magazine with heavy socialist views. The thought it odd that a publishing company that would print that would also print her work. As she reached the top of the stairs, she met what could only be described as a completely different building. The floor of the open vestibule was clearly hand hewn solid oak parquet tiles, with an authentic persian rug over the center of the rectangular space. the wood paneled walls glimmered with just the right amount of polish and shine, the vaulted cathedral cieling was adorned with a star map showing the southern summer sky as seen from Avon, England. There were antique couches and highbacked chairs along the wall. As she took in the room the light flickered for a moment. It was then that she realized that the entire room was lit with gas lights. She couldn't help but take her time feasting her eyes on the room as she walked across the thick red, green and gold carpet showing a heraldic coat of arms. Eventually she made her way to the other end of the room where she was met by an arched, guilt and carved, oak double door with a plaque next to it that read, "Editor in Chief."
Cassandra took a few deep breaths to steady herself before pressing the thumblatch on the door and pulling it open, she found it odd that she had to pull the door to open it. As the office came into view she was again amazed by the lavishness of this publishing company's offices. The walls, where they weren't covered in shelves of antique books, had odd trinkets and knickknacks from around the world, a chinese dragon statue, a japenese rice paper painting, some sort of tribal mask from Africa, a Native-American feathered headdress, and above the stone fireplace hung a sword. Ancient, ornate, beautiful, and deadly. The fuller ran the length of the silvered, steel blade save the hilt, where there were words written in what appeared to be latin, but were in an archaic form of the alphabet, in gold. The quillion were wide and flat, slightly curved, and had clearly caught many blades in their lifetime, they too were covered in the same archaic latin. The grip of the sword was clearly the newest part, recently wrapped with black leather and held in place with silver wire. The pommel of the sword was in the shape of a lion's head with it's mouth open, emeralds for eyes and Ivory for teeth, every detail was taken in. This was clearly a masterpiece work and would be easily worth millions to the right collector. She sat on the carved wooden chair in front of the desk expecting it to be uncomfortable because it had no cushion, but was pleasently surprised that it seemed to be carved to fit her and was actually quite comfortable. The other, smaller door in the room opened to reveal Captain Sir Trent of Avon.