Can we go far away to the humming meadow?
There is a small, thin cat in the lobby of the Kashtta, dead center, staring up at nothing several stories overhead. She's chirping, swaying a bit. Her eyes swim with color and her pupils have all but disappeared. Sparks float around her, red and gold and white, drifting up and down like something invisible breathing as it sleeps. She gives an unnatural trill. Music starts to build around her. Soft drums, reed flutes, harps and lutes in chords that rise and fall with the sparks. Farther off, much farther off, somebody is singing.
Despite the harmony, it isn't pretty. It's like someone whispering against your neck. Someone who disappears when you turn around and comes back when you think you're alone. Cy trills again, and it sounds more like a whine. She speaks a language that sounds like Hebrew, and for anyone in the know, is in fact Classical Hebrew.
"The storm is coming. The finger of God. There will not be a house untouched, not a soul untainted. It's the beginning, not the end."
Despite the harmony, it isn't pretty. It's like someone whispering against your neck. Someone who disappears when you turn around and comes back when you think you're alone. Cy trills again, and it sounds more like a whine. She speaks a language that sounds like Hebrew, and for anyone in the know, is in fact Classical Hebrew.
"The storm is coming. The finger of God. There will not be a house untouched, not a soul untainted. It's the beginning, not the end."