Adam glared at the facade of a workshop, the fiery orange of the twilight sky reflecting off the twisted metal and stone that formed its surface. Whoever built this was a madman—that's the first thing he thought. The second was that the builder was a misunderstood genius. How else could this aberration stand?
Now that he focused on it, he saw past the twisted metal, realising they should represent the horns of a beast. The caved-in part of the facade should have been a mouth, and the stones jutting out its teeth. An ambitious project, no doubt, but without the technical skill to achieve it. The builder likely ended up favoring practicality over style. What a mistake. Style first, always. No matter how many times the building crumbles, you start over.
